by Speer, Flora
“If Stregone knows Bianca’s true identity and where she is living, then she is in danger.” Vanni was totally serious, the jesting, teasing young nobleman gone and in his place a hard-faced warrior.
“So is Rosalinda.” Andrea’s mouth was drawn into a grim line to match his brother’s expression.
“And Madonna Eleonora as well.” Francesco’s blue-gray eyes were as cold as ice, and his hand rested on the hilt of his sword.
“I will leave Luca Nardi in charge here at Monteferro,” Vanni decided with no hesitation. “Francesco, how many men do you think we should take with us?”
“Just the three of us are going,” said Francesco. “The fewer we are, the faster we can travel. Stregone is most likely alone, so numbers aren’t important.”
“He’s right,” Andrea said to Vanni. “Speed is what matters. We have to reach Villa Serenita before Stregone does, and he has been on his way since midnight. Once we warn Bartolomeo, he will provide men-at-arms, and we will have all the help we need.”
“Vanni, you should change out of those fancy clothes you’re wearing,” Francesco said, eyeing the younger man’s blue velvet and gold robes. “I will see to the horses and provisions. We ride within the hour.”
Chapter 19
“I don’t know what is wrong with me today. I cannot sit still.” Rosalinda left her lessons at the table in the sitting room and went to stare out the window. “Perhaps I have been good too long,” she said on a sad, little laugh.
“It’s not that.” Bianca joined her sister, linking arms with her. “I am oddly restless, too. It’s as if something is happening – or is going to happen soon – that deeply concerns me and I am only waiting to learn of it. I have no taste for lessons, either.”
“If only I could ride,” Rosalinda said, closing her eyes so she could imagine it, “just mount my horse and ride with the wind in my face, across the meadows and into the hills.”
“I think it would be most unwise for you to get onto a horse,” Bianca said. After looking around to be sure no one had come into the room, she lowered her voice and said, “Think of the baby, my dear.”
“The baby is all I have been thinking of,” Rosalinda answered. “It’s why I made so many mistakes in Latin today. I am going to have to tell Mother in the next few days.”
“It will be for the best,” Bianca said.
“I’m not sure of that, but it must be done. You and I know how cautious Mother always is. Once I tell her, she will insist I give up riding altogether. I will be confined to the villa all through the autumn, my favorite season. Then the snows will come, and she probably won’t let me set one foot outside the door until after the baby is born. I will go mad from being confined.”
Biting her lip to keep tears of frustration at bay, Rosalinda rubbed her hands over her abdomen. She was halfway through her pregnancy, and to her it seemed she was growing rounder by the hour. The high-waisted gowns she wore had hidden her condition until now, but soon it would be obvious to everyone. Rosalinda was certain that only Bianca’s clever handling of their monthly linens and Eleonora’s distraction about the affairs of Monteferro had so far prevented her observant mother from asking probing questions.
“You must not endanger the child,” Bianca said.
“I wouldn’t do that,” Rosalinda promised. “But if I were to take a gentler horse than my usual mount, and if you were to go with me, I cannot think there would be any harm in a short ride.”
“I’m not sure it’s a good idea,” Bianca said, hesitating.
“I feel perfectly well,” Rosalinda insisted. “The slight sickness that formerly plagued me in the mornings has disappeared, apparently for good. If it were not necessary to keep this secret, and if I were not so worried about Andrea, I could honestly say that I have never been healthier or in better spirits. But I need to move! I want fresh air and sunshine.”
Rosalinda did not add that she also craved the exhilaration of following steep tracks to the high meadows where dainty flowers bloomed and icy little streams carried the sweetest, coldest water in the world. Bianca was a different kind of person and so, no matter how much she loved her sister, Bianca would never understand how important it was to Rosalinda to stand in an open alpine meadow and lift her face to the heavenly blue sky and the warm sun, to feel free and unfettered by the rules that bound young women even here, in this serene and remote location.
With her hand still on the roundness that contained her baby, Rosalinda accepted the truth that she would never be unfettered again. The child she carried bound her firmly to the lower altitudes. There was no sense of loss in the realization, only an acknowledgement on Rosalinda’s part that she was soon to embark upon a new aspect of her life. Before she could do that, she wanted to say farewell to the freedom of her youth.
“If you promise to be very careful,” Bianca said, “I will go with you.”
“Thank you.” Tears stung Rosalinda’s eyelids. “I need to make this one last trek into the hills.”
“I don’t know why it’s so,” Bianca said, “but I do understand that you feel a deep connection to those mountains. And it’s I who should thank you for letting me go with you, when I’m sure you would rather go alone.”
Rosalinda nodded, unable to speak just then. Bianca noticed her slightly teary mood and tried to lighten it.
“I do wonder,” Bianca whispered, “whether you are going to be able to fasten that doublet you insist on wearing when you ride.”
“I admit, I hadn’t thought about it.” Rosalinda’s mood veered abruptly, as it often had in recent days. Tears forgotten, she chuckled at the image Bianca had suggested. “I will just have to start a dashing new style and wear my doublet unfastened.”
On a burst of gentle laughter, the sisters put away their lessons and hurried to change into riding clothes.
* * * * *
Two hours after Rosalinda and Bianca had departed on their ride, Andrea, Vanni, and Francesco reached the boundary of Villa Serenita lands.
“Signores, you must leave at once.” Lorenzo was the sentry on duty, and he held up a hand to stop the three who had come galloping along the path at breakneck speed. “I have specific orders from Madonna Eleonora not to admit any of you again, under any circumstances.”
“Madonna Eleonora’s life may be in danger,” Francesco declared, “not to mention the lives of her daughters. We have come to warn them.”
“I am sorry, signores, but I must obey my orders. You may not pass.”
Andrea noticed Vanni setting his shoulders and gathering the reins more tightly into his hands. Knowing his brother as well as he knew his own heart, Andrea was sure Vanni intended to make a dash for it, to rush past Lorenzo, to ride the sentry down if he must, in order to reach the villa. Just as surely, Andrea knew the unfortunate effect such a precipitous action would have on Eleonora. The woman would refuse to listen to anything Vanni or his companions had to say, and she would scoff at their warnings, calling them an excuse the men were using to get to her daughters. Diplomacy was called for in this instance, not impetuous action.
Stifling his own desire to dig his spurs into his horse’s sides and ride with Vanni, Andrea sent a stern glance his brother’s way and shook his head. He was relieved to see Vanni sit back in his saddle, awaiting Andrea’s next movement.
“Lorenzo.” Andrea leaned forward over the neck of his horse. “You and I became friends last winter, while you helped me to recover my skills with weapons. Did we not?”
“So we did,” Lorenzo said, “and I regret the necessity to refuse you entrance to the villa. I beg you to understand my position.”
“I do understand,” Andrea replied. “Were I to set a man as sentry for me, I would expect him to be as scrupulous about following my orders as you are about the orders you have been given.”
“Thank you, signore.” Lorenzo nodded his agreement with these sentiments, and Andrea was pleased to note that he relaxed his rigid stance to a small degree.
“However,” Andrea continued, “there is a favor you could do for me that will not defy orders. I see you have a second guard nearby. Is that Giuseppe?” Andrea indicated a mounted man-at-arms a short distance away, who was watching them as if he were wondering if he ought to join Lorenzo. “You could send him to Bartolomeo with a message from me, and we could leave it to Bartolomeo to decide whether I and my companions are to be admitted.”
“I could,” Lorenzo said after taking a while to consider this proposal, “but only if all three of you give your word of honor not to attack me once I am alone with you.”
“By heaven, I’ll attack both of them if they keep us waiting here much longer,” Vanni muttered. In a louder voice he said, “Bianca’s life is in danger. Don’t you care about that, Lorenzo?”
“No, Vanni, it’s as I said.” Andrea raised a cautionary hand to his brother. “If you or I give orders to the guards in our employ, we expect those orders to be followed. Lorenzo is only doing his duty. We don’t want to get him into trouble, but we do want Bartolomeo to learn we are here, and as promptly as possible, because we have come on an urgent errand.”
By this time the second guard, Giuseppe, had ridden over to join Lorenzo.
“We give you our word,” Andrea said, speaking to both of the sentries, “that we will remain where we are until Bartolomeo is told that we are here, and we will abide by the decision he makes about admitting us.”
“Very well, signore,” Lorenzo agreed. “What you ask is reasonable and I will accept your word. Go, Giuseppe. You have heard him; you know what to say.” At a jerk of Lorenzo’s head, the second guard set off for the villa.
The three impatient travelers settled themselves to wait. After a little while, Lorenzo agreed to Andrea’s request that they be allowed to walk their lathered horses and water them in a nearby stream. This meant they were actually upon Villa Serenita land, but when Vanni whispered a suggestion that they remount and ride as fast as they could to the villa, Andrea refused.
“Aside from the dishonor of breaking our word and the impossibility of convincing Eleonora to listen to us if we take such action,” Andrea said, “Bartolomeo keeps the men-at-arms well trained and ready for combat. If we are wounded, or worse, we won’t be much help to anyone.”
“We have seen no sign of Stregone,” Francesco noted, attempting to allay Vanni’s concerns. “Even though he had a horse available to him, he will have to take care to avoid the men Andrea sent to search for him, a problem that ought to delay him for some time. My guess is that we are here well ahead of that villainous dwarf.”
“If Stregone thought we could get ahead of him,” Vanni objected, “he never would have let those guards he stabbed know where he was going. He intended to be here first, waiting for us when we arrive.”
“I’m afraid I agree with you, Vanni, but for the moment, there is nothing we can do except wait,” Andrea said. He kicked at a clump of grass, finding it did nothing to relieve the strain of worry over Rosalinda’s safety. He could only hope that Eleonora, in her role of strict mother, was keeping her daughters close to the villa. “Where in the name of all the saints is Bartolomeo? Does he plan to let us stay here with no word from him until we grow weary and leave?”
“Here comes someone.” Francesco squinted, looking across the expanse of farmed fields toward the villa in the distance. “There are six riders.”
“Signores.” Giuseppe arrived ahead of the other riders and drew up next to the three men who were waiting impatiently to hear what he would say. “Bartolomeo wants you to come with us. Lorenzo, more sentries are on their way to assist you, in case you need them.”
“Bartolomeo sent an armed escort for us?” Andrea frowned at the mounted men-at-arms, all of whom he knew from the previous winter. All of them were grim-faced and unfriendly at this meeting. Andrea’s tone was dry when he said to Giuseppe, “We are honored.”
“Signore,” Giuseppe said, “if you attempt to evade us, we are to cut you down.”
“I find it difficult to believe that Bartolomeo gave you that order,” Francesco said as he swung back into his saddle. “It’s not like him.”
“Madonna Eleonora gave us the order,” Giuseppe replied. “She said she does not trust you.”
“What a woman!” Francesco’s broad smile flashed. “I can’t wait to see her again.”
They did not meet Bartolomeo in his office as Andrea had expected. Instead, still under escort, they entered the villa through the garden, where plums ripened on one tree and apricots on another, while the bees busied themselves with the herbs and the brilliant flowers of early August.
It was a peaceful scene, with the mountains tall and stately in the distance. Andrea found it difficult to imagine that danger could lurk here, in Eleonora Farisi’s domain, where order and reason, scholarly learning and good manners, were paramount. Yet he knew that where Niccolo Stregone was, there was always the chance of sudden violence and cruelty.
And Stregone was nearby. Andrea could almost feel the man’s presence. From the way Vanni looked from the garden to the mountains, Andrea knew his twin was thinking about Stregone, too, and trying to calculate where and when that devious man would strike.
Then the guards ranged themselves along the terrace and Giuseppe pointed toward the sitting room door. Andrea, Vanni, and Francesco all entered without protest, for this was where they wanted to go. In the familiar room Eleonora, Bartolomeo, and Valeria awaited them. But not the sisters.
Glancing around, Andrea noticed Bianca’s doves rustling about in their cage. He saw Rosalinda’s Latin text and her handwritten lesson on the table next to a scrap of parchment bearing what he recognized as Bianca’s fine, even handwriting with its graceful flourishes. Rosalinda’s handwriting was not as elegant as Bianca’s, but it was clear and easy to read. Diverted from his urgent purpose for a moment, Andrea smiled to see the evidence of Rosalinda’s scholarly industry. The table looked as if Rosalinda and Bianca had just left it. Andrea could picture Eleonora sending her daughters from the room as he and his companions approached the villa.
Knowing Rosalinda as he did, Andrea thought it likely that she and her sister would not be far away. He wondered if Rosalinda, with her warm heart and her insistence on her personal freedom, would find a way to join them. Or had Eleonora ordered Rosalinda and Bianca confined to their rooms during this visit?
“Why have you come here?” Eleonora did not waste time on polite greetings or flowery inquiries about the health of her unbidden and most unwelcome guests.
“Madonna.” Pulling off his hat with a flourish, Vanni went down on one knee before her. “We have much to tell you, but first and, I believe, dearest to your heart, we are here to announce to you that the Guidi no longer rule either Monteferro or Aullia. Andrea has been proclaimed Duke of Aullia. As for Monteferro, I have come as promised to lay the city at your feet and at the feet of your sweet daughter, Bianca. I am here to proclaim the restoration of the Farisi to Monteferro.”
It was a bold speech, and one typical of Vanni. Eager though Andrea was to warn these people against Niccolo Stregone, still he noted with interest the play of conflicting emotions across Eleonora’s face. In her reaction to Vanni’s declaration, Andrea hoped to see some indication of what Eleonora would say when he asked for Rosalinda’s hand.
“And what reward do you expect for your valorous deeds?” Eleonora asked, staring down the length of her high-bridged nose at Vanni on his knees. In her silver-gray brocade gown, with her hair dressed high and rubies dangling from her earlobes, she looked every inch the duchess.
“Madonna,” Vanni said, “I hold Monteferro so securely in my control that I was able to leave the city without concern for what would happen during my absence. It is my honor to offer Monteferro to you.”
“In payment for what?” Eleonora demanded in a voice like ice.
“I ask only the hand of your beautiful Bianca in marriage,” Vanni answered. “I love her with all my heart, and I will endeavor to make he
r happy for the rest of her life.”
“Keep Monteferro,” Eleonora said, still in that same icy voice. “Keep it until I find a way to take it from you. As for my daughter, I told you when last you were here that I would never give either of my children to the sons of Federigo Sotani, and I have not changed my mind. At that time, my daughters told the two of you that they agreed with my decision. They have not changed their minds, either.”
“Let us hear it from their own lips,” Andrea said.
He had to see Rosalinda. Standing in the room where they had passed so many contented evenings during the previous winter, he knew he could not live another hour without sight of her. When Rosalinda and Bianca were in the sitting room, then he would warn all of them at once about Niccolo Stregone. Eleonora hated Stregone more than she hated Andrea or Vanni. She would heed his words. If, for some perverse reason of her own, she chose to ignore what he said, Andrea was sure Bartolomeo would listen. In the meantime, all he wanted was Rosalinda within his vision.
“Let Rosalinda look me in the eye, and Bianca look Vanni in the eye, and let each of them say of her own free will that she refuses to marry a man who has honestly won her,” Andrea insisted.
“After you have heard a repetition of what you already know,” Eleonora told him, “you will be escorted off my land and never again will you be permitted to set foot on it. The next time we meet, you three will be prisoners and Monteferro will belong to the Farisi in truth, not offered as a bribe from the children of a murderer.