Hart, Mallory Dorn

by Jasmine on the Wind

  Francho had already resolved what he wanted to do and this female's stupid vanity was not going to upset his plan for her safety! "By San Bartolomeo and San Andres, woman, do you not recognize legitimate concern for you, you who are otherwise bereft of family and still unwise and young? You try my patience..."

  With a little cringe she retreated backward some more steps but he advanced along with her. "Uh... I mean of course I do appreciate your solicitous and generous thought, señor, but..."

  "Then accept my arrangement, Dolores, and do not start a quarrel," he ordered brusquely. "It isn't charity. It isn't even a gift, because I intend to return, whole and in one piece. Consider the money a bequest. From a friend. Just in case. A last wish. To be honored."

  She reminded him of a bright and beautiful bird nervously deciding between staying and taking flight. She tilted her head a fraction as if to discern better was he teasing and what did he mean, and then her hands fluttered helplessly before her chest. "Well. Yes, I see now. Very well, then, if you put it that way."

  He continued to scowl at her, trying to detect any tricks beneath her sudden capitulation, for it was sudden. But her expression was open, even gratified, as if the dawn of reason had truly overrun the darkness of pride. Mollified, his anger passed away quickly. So to lighten the atmosphere again he let a smile clear his face. "The fact is I have no other brother or sister, so to whom else would I leave these funds? Hadn't we agreed before that by virtue of our childhood together we are not just acquaintances?"

  "But your sire? He is your family."

  "He has great fortunes. This would be unnoticeable to him."

  Glancing up through fringed and tilted eyes she turned away from him and glided toward a table in mid-floor. He forced himself to tear his gaze away from the lovely sway of her hips and the suggestion of rounded buttocks under the thin, clinging silk of her gown. In a merely curious tone, as innocent of malice as a child's, she asked, "But what of Doña Leonora? Surely she is not just an acquaintance?"

  "True, but she has a great inheritance from her father. And I do not owe her a debt as I do to you, for look you, lady, you are the only representative present of the family that saved my life."

  She turned toward him, bland as butter, her mouth curving up in a smile. "Cielos, you have so honeyed a tongue, Francho, you could talk the fox from his den. Very well, I will keep the money for you but you shall have it back the moment you return."

  "Agreed," he growled.

  A second of silence stretched between them and he wondered why he didn't leave. She picked up a small monkey made of brass from the table and toyed with it. "Presuming God keeps you in safety, will your mission then be long in Egypt?"

  He relaxed his shoulders, shifting them under the blue velvet surcoat, which was becoming too warm in this house, noticing her eyes on them as he did so. Quickly he offered, "That depends on the Sultan's temper. We stop first in Rome to consult with the Holy Office and then in Constantinople, and if all goes smoothly in Egypt then eight or nine months will see us back. But Maestro di Lido warns we may be kept cooling our heels for a while. So then, perhaps over a year."

  "A year. That's a long time, Francho." She glanced down at the brass monkey she turned in her fingers and just then he realized that for Papa el Mono's daughter this must be an amulet. "I shall miss you," she declared softly.

  He should have been gracious enough to thank her but instead something drove him into a rather crusty "Not so. You have many—distractions."

  "Ah, but I have only one friend. Only one who cares for me enough to try and assure my future."

  A hot blush rose in his face, and in his chest so did something akin to panic as she set down the figurine and strolled toward him with that damnable hipsway. She fixed her exotic and subtly challenging eyes upon his, and he knew if he didn't leave now he would be testing his newfound control to the extreme. So he strode toward her aggressively and took one of her hands in his to say farewell. Still gentle and smiling, she remarked, "I don't see how Doña Leonora will bear your protracted absence; I know it would be hard for me if we were lovers. It must be trying to love a man who is often far away."

  Her tone was so sympathetic he took no offense; in fact it came over him there was something he should say to her, to instruct her if he could. "When one loves, Dolores, even a small minute together can be an eternity of happiness. Distance and time become nothing, love can make even separation bearable for it stretches over leagues and years. I hope someday you will find such a love." But immediately as he got out the last word embarrassment engulfed him; and he became aghast with himself for braying like a pompous donkey. He braced for the deserved mockery surely forthcoming.

  But she merely kept those limpid, hypnotic eyes on his and seemed to sway closer. "How eloquently you put it, Don Francisco. Yes, perhaps someday I will know such a love," she murmured.

  He realized he was still holding her hand, quickly kissed it, and let it go. "With your permission I will take my leave, now. Adiós then, Dolores."

  He inclined his head and saluted her. She stood still, the pale gown shimmering in folds at her feet, the filmy veil at the points of her coif stirring softly in a breeze from a window. Her tempting mouth displayed what he thought, somehow disappointed, was no more than a polite smile. Turning on his heel he strode away, ignoring a peculiar sense of having forgotten something, for after all he had finished his business with her and said his goodbye. He was already at the door when she called after him "Francho! Wait!" and he heard the light rustle of her skirt as she ran toward him. Then, just as she reached him she caught her toe in the knotted fringe of the carpet and stumbled. He shot his arm out to steady her and restore her balance and as he did so caught the medallion of his bracelet in the sheer organdy puffed through the slashes of her tight sleeve.

  With an uneasy chuckle and clumsy fingers he began to fumble at the delicate cloth. Her pleasant laugh took over as she pushed his hand aside to work at the caught threads herself. Helplessly he subsided and just stood there, content to allow her smaller hands do the job and to breathe the inspiring scent of her jasmine perfume. He gazed down at her as she concentrated, studying the rich and shining auburn triangle of hair revealed by her coif, the sweep of dark lashes against the satin of her cheeks, the slim, lissome body with its handspan waist and curved hips.

  Only a fool lies to himself, the admission flooded through his mind. I do love her. In a certain way. Her beauty of face and body enflame me. I want to touch her. But I do not think of her as I do Leonora, and I will cut off my hands before I breach her trust again, like some swinish peasant....

  "Caspita! A stubborn tangling," Dolores said breathlessly as she successfully disengaged the two of them and looked up, just missing, he hoped, the rapid change of expression on his face. "There. You are free, señor."

  The distant cathedral bells began tolling the hour, followed by the higher-pitched tintinnabulations of the smaller churches. The morning was wearing on. She glided around him and opened the door partially. "What I wanted to ask was that you not say 'adiós,' Francho, but rather 'until we meet again,' for at any rate our paths will surely cross again while you remain in Seville. And you will return, Francho, I am sure of it. Was not my grandmother supposed to be part seer?" She smiled.

  Her attempt to reassure him and the friendly warmth in her eyes made him even gladder that he had left her his funds. "God keep you, Dolores."

  "And God give you safe journey and swift return, Sir Knight." Swiftly she reached up with both hands, pulled his head down, and kissed him on the lips; but when his arm of its own accord went around her waist she pushed him away, a glisten of tears in her gray eyes, and quickly shut the door in his face.

  He stood for a moment, rattled, staring at the closed portal, the impression of her soft, compelling lips still on his, battling the impulse to barge back in. The door reopened and a determined Engracia slipped out to herd him back to the front entrance. Straight-backed he strode after her, and
yet even as he approached Ebarra and the horses the hollow feeling he had suffered for a moment before that firmly closed door still lingered within him. Swinging up on the saddle he frowned into the sun and ordered himself sternly to pull himself together and lift up his heart, for the wonderful fact was that he was headed now to see his beguiling Leonora. And, in fact, as he concentrated hard on chasing Dolores from his head, his mood did begin to swing up.

  Dolores subsided limply against the closed door and shut her eyes. Of a certain that azure-eyed, stubborn, scowling thickwit whom she adored would surely return from Egypt; he was only trying to frighten her and push her into taking the money. And why should she be so distressed, at any rate? He was not leaving her, he was leaving the dimpled Zuniga. But—a year? She would be getting old before she saw him again, and even then all he would want was his money back. Disconsolately she scuffed across the carpet to the money casket which he had left on the chair.

  His chivalrous impulse to match in death the kindness her family had shown him in life was commendable. But why was his debt to be paid only by his death, the Lord forbid?

  Why not now, when she needed it? It was a thought that had come to her earlier. She fingered the small padlock which secured the casket's lid; it could be easily broken by any smith to whom she appealed her loss of the key. The whole thing was simple, of course. She would borrow from him enough to calm her debtors and in a year she would replace the money, either by accepting some gentleman's suit if he would pay off her debts, or by selling her land.

  An ironic smile played about her lips. In her heart she knew she would never chain herself to a man merely to pay off a debt, for surely at eighteen she still had a few years of youth to capture someone she truly liked. Nor would she sell her land, while she could sell her jewels. Anyhow, she would rather owe a debt to Don Francisco de Mendoza than to a passel of uncaring merchants. Him she could pay back. Somehow.

  ***

  It was the first major fete of the new year, this marriage of the Duke of Albuquerque's heir, and a most important liaison between two great houses and countries. The Countess Lysette Marianne de Moulines was a widow even at the tender age of sixteen, having had as first spouse a crabbed but enormously wealthy French noble forced on her by her father. But after the old man's death her father had managed to have her declared "intacta" by virtue of nonconsummation, and here she was, again being married as a virgin in the eyes of the Church.

  The jewel-encrusted coronet weighed heavy on her veiled head as the bride knelt before the magnificent golden high altar of the hugest cathedral she had ever seen in her life. Undaunted, relieved by her deliverance from the old man, she slid, throughout the lengthy and solemn ceremony, quick glances of admiration at the stalwart young groom kneeling beside her. Her heart swelled with thanks toward her father, cousin to King Charles VIII, for the gift of this kind and handsome young man.

  For his part Don Antonio de la Cueva didn't even fed the heavy gold coronet pressing down on his pomaded brown hair. He was pale and sweating—if not from the fact that he was taking a wife, then at least from the copious drinking he had done in company with his lewd-minded friends the night before. He was aware of his chin, itching fiercely from unguent applied when his valet had nicked him with the razor, and of the huge, preening assembly behind him staring at his scarlet-sheathed back, rustling with whispers every time the mighty choir fell silent and the Archbishop again took up the ritual. With a dry mouth Antonio said the nuptial pledge, "I Antonio, Marquis of Santurce, eldest son of Beltran de la Cueva, Duke of Albuquerque, take thee, Lysette, Countess of Moulines, second daughter of Hubert Moraine de Valois..." He wished fervently it were still the night before when he was yet a bachelor unhampered by a wife. Albeit she was a very pretty one....

  That evening the light from a thousand candles blazed out from every window of Albuquerque's great mansion, with music and dancing and hilarity to honor the brilliant marriage, to say nothing of a stupendous banquet. But this time Francho had outmaneuvered his archrival, for being one of the young gentlemen in the groom's honor escort, he was seated far above the salt in this gathering of the rich and powerful of two great countries, and he had asked Leonora to sit next to him. It was his intention to enjoy the festivities to the hilt, seeing it was the last he would attend for some time, but even so he could not remember being so happy, for his blond-headed love was at his side and pressed her knee against his under the table, even when she smiled and chatted with the other diners seated near her. He ate with great gusto of the myriad rich dishes. He chose from the salvers the finest pieces to lay upon Leonora's plate, which she devoured with good appetite, her eyes sparkling at him as he carved with his knife against his chest a round loaf of the whitest bread and with mock ceremony handed her a hunk with which to sop up the savory juices of the potted hare.

  After the dance music began and the bride and groom were each led out by a smiling monarch, Francho claimed as many dances with Leonora as his proprietous lady would allow. In fact, instead of standing and glowering as in the past when she accepted Don Felipe's arm, he revealed the security of his love by joining Pulgar, Gonsalvo de Cordoba, who was Isabella's youngest and well-favored captain, and other caballeros in an uproarious group downing cup upon cup in toast to the flushed-faced bridegroom.

  But needing to guard his sobriety he soon parted from them to wander the crowded chambers, greeting this one and that whom he knew, and standing for a while alongside Tendilla to converse with several gentlemen before making his excuses and getting away. Out of kindness he even engaged in a short exchange of pleasantries with a shy, stocky Italian he had met briefly at the encampment at Baza, an eccentric Genoese named Cristoforo Columbo upon whose coarse features sat the strain of those who wait with little hope upon royal decision. When Columbo's sad face lit up at the approach of Pietro di Lido, elegant as ever, Francho excused himself, glad to leave the two gesturing Italians to their technical arguments over geography. Francho understood that Columbo was looking for backing to find a passage to the Indies by sailing far to the west, a risky and questionable business, but Francho's mind was crammed with too many of his own thoughts to spare such doubtful adventuring much room.

  Dolores was not hard to find. Strolling into a smaller chamber where banquettes around the wall held players seated at tables for intense games of checkers, chess, and beard-the-fox, he heard her laugh ring out to mark a particularly clever move, and there she was, watching Medina-Sidonia checkmate the dismayed Archbishop of Burgos while the knot of mostly male observers covertly eyed her with pleasure. He had no intention of going closer for it was almost time to reclaim Leonora from her admirers, yet he couldn't help standing for a moment on the fringes of the group to watch her, her eyes sparkling with the vicarious excitement of winning, the rise and fall of her half-exposed bosom carrying a garland of gems nowhere so precious as the flawless skin they rested upon, an alluring shine upon her lips. Somehow she seemed to feel his eyes upon her, and she unerringly turned her head to look in his direction. Did the music filtering from the great hall suddenly swell and sweeten, or was he imagining the heightened sound as her limpid gaze clung to his and her seductive smile began to draw him to her as inexorably as a magnetic stone attracted iron filings?

  Doggedly he resisted and suddenly her smile appeared merely friendly, a polite greeting, and was there, perhaps, a touch of cynical amusement? He nodded a stiff acknowledgment and quickly exited the room.

  By midnight he had managed to remark to a number of people that he expected to accompany Pietro di Lido to Egypt. At midnight, also, the bridal couple retired from the hall and were installed by their parents and friends into their chambers upstairs. After a carefully timed interval measured from the moment the couple was left alone, the entire company was silenced and the music ceased. In ancient days this period was reserved for the guests to listen for the bride's virginal scream as a signal that the marriage was truly consummated. In this case the idea was faintly ridiculous, a
nd in any case too barbarous for these enlightened times. But the custom of the silence was still preserved and in a few minutes broken by the King himself, who shattered a glass against a wall as a sign that the marriage was considered joined. Having observed the bride's teasing ways with her betrothed and knowing Antonio's suavity with women, Francho imagined that his friend had about now only coaxed his new wife into taking off the linen and lace wedding nightrobe in which her friends had dressed her, and perhaps he held out to her as well a golden goblet of wine.

  He watched a troupe of entertainers spill into the great hall to begin a popular and elaborate spectacle with music, pitting the Devil (a hoary old man with an evil cackle) against a wavering angel (a too pretty, graceful boy), the angel soon to be bolstered up in his refusal to sin by a procession of martyred and bloody saints, eyes gazing devoutly toward heaven. Gaily everyone had gathered from all the chambers about and above to watch the play, leaving even the gaming tables abandoned. Francho moved toward an entranceway unobserved.

  Watching for her chance Leonora finally edged away from the group surrounding the Infanta and slipped unobtrusively through the throng of guests. She spotted Don Felipe as he started to follow her, reading on his face the intention of cornering her in a dark alcove, and she shook her head, trying to look embarrassed. She was anxious neither to make him suspicious nor to offend him. He smiled his thin smile and let her go, for he remembered she had twice sipped her wine cup dry and must need be in a hurry.

  Leonora held her skirts to her and hurried down the empty corridor. She wished she was feeling only the anticipatory beat of her heart knowing that she was hastening to a rendezvous with her handsome, importunate cousin, but uncertainty and annoyance crushed her excitement. She was not a mere girl anymore, and still her future was unsettled. Her mother, her guardian, was little help. Her mother said, "I was fortunate, daughter. I loved your father. As long as the match is in all respects suitable I will allow you to follow your inclination." Following her inclination she was indeed, and yet it might be no more than reaching for the mist on the meadow. Francisco was confusing, hard to grasp at times. And now he was going away. How awkward it all was. So messy.