One Knight in Venice

by Tori Phillips

  His lips grazed her earlobe. “It is not my body that needs you as much as my soul.”

  Her pulse quickened. “Then seek out a confessor who—”

  He stopped her further advice with a bruising kiss. The touch of his lips sent thrilling waves of shock cascading through her. Ignited by the intensity of his passion, she arched against him. The hardness of his thighs and the harder place between them made her body long for his. All her cold logic melted in his heat.

  His kiss softened like a murmured prayer. He withdrew slowly, leaving her mouth yearning for more.

  “Jessica,” he whispered into her hair. “There is no other help for me but you—your love.”

  He dropped to one knee before her and took her hand in his. “Can you find it in your heart to love me even though I have no noble title, no great wealth? I cannot shower you with costly jewels or velvet gowns as you deserve. I earn my daily bread in the service of King Edward of England. Though my birth was not an honorable one, I have always striven to live an honorable life. Will you share it with me?”

  Jessica’s ears burned. Her knees trembled. She could not believe his ardor nor the truth of his words. It must be a dream or a hideous jest. She took his hand to steady herself.

  He kissed her fingers, making it impossible for her to think clearly.

  “I do not crave jewels or beautiful clothes,” she replied. She must not lose her head. “Does this home you offer to me have love residing in it or will I be just the latest one of your mistresses?” She thought of Cosma and all that creature represented.

  Francis grinned at her. “Is that what troubles you? On my honor, I swear that I have never had as many mistresses as I claimed to the Doge. That boast was only part of my disguise. In good truth, cara, I am not the vain fop that I portrayed. Surely you can see that by now?”

  Jessica refused to accept his protestations. No man in his right mind would want to marry her. There must be some other reason that she had not yet considered. “Then you want me to be your housekeeper—until you can marry a fine lady of a nobler station?”

  He closed his eyes for a moment and muttered something that sounded like an English oath. “You are driving my patience to the very brink, sweetheart. Listen to me well. There is no other lady on the face of God’s green earth—not in all of Italy, nor in France, nor in Spain.” He rose and circled his arms around her. “Nor in Portugal, Scotland, Ireland, the kingdoms of Flanders and Germany, nor even in England itself—none are more noble than you.”

  He kissed her moist eyes, first one than the other. “If I traveled to Egypt or Cathay or India or even to the wilds of the New World, I know I would not find a woman to match you.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Only you do I want. Only you will I have. Do you understand me now? I speak of the honorable state of matrimony—with me and very soon. Be my wife.”

  Jessica’s throat closed up. “I thought you only said that at the trial to free me.”

  He framed her face in his hands. “I said it because I meant it. I still mean it, now more than ever.”

  She wanted to believe him with all her soul. “I have no dowry—”

  Francis’s face turned red. “Damn the dowry! Will you sail with me to England? Will you marry me now—today?”

  Jessica knew she would marry him that moment if a priest were at hand, but she also knew that there were still those demons of his that sat on his shoulders and threatened their future happiness. “Sì, Francis, I will marry you, but there are several conditions.”

  His face brightened in astonishment. “Did you just say you would marry me?” He lifted her off her feet.

  She gripped his jerkin and ducked her head before she hit it against the cabin’s low ceiling. “Francis, listen to me.” He set her back on her feet but did not release her. “First, you must teach me English.”

  “A pleasure. Let us start with a kiss.” He leaned down.

  She stopped him though her heart ached. “Second, since it is now Lent we cannot wed until we reach England, but only after your family has met me. They must approve the match.”

  She knew that once those noble Cavendishes saw the devil’s mark on her cheek, they would forbid the marriage, but she could not bear to abandon Francis now.

  He snapped his fingers. “Done! Wolf Hall has a fine chapel just made for our wedding. But until then, we can practice what it is to be man and wife.” He leaned down toward her again.

  Again, though with less resolve, she stopped him. “Third, that you honor my maiden state until our wedding night.” She held her breath.

  He puffed out his cheeks. “Whew! You drive a hard bargain.”

  She gave him a crooked little smile while her blood surged with desire. “I am a Venetian. We are born to bargain.”

  He snorted. “Very well, I agree though I do not understand why. I have already plighted my troth to you. All Venice witnessed my promise.”

  She couldn’t help but smile at that memory, then she grew more serious. “I do not want you forced into marriage with me against your family’s wishes because I am pregnant.”

  He chuckled. “No one forces me into anything. I am my own man now. Ah, Jessica, you have set a hard trial upon me, but I will endure it for your sweet sake.” He kissed her. “And do not worry about the Cavendishes. They are a romantic clan and will never believe the priceless pearl that I have found.”

  Jessica swallowed. “You speak the truth, Francis. They will never believe what you have found.”

  Not a pearl but a mangy stray cat.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Northumberland, England

  April 1550—Easter Monday

  Francis rose in the worn stirrups of his rented horse. He waved his cap over his head. “There it is!” he shouted, his breath puffing white in the cold air. “Wolf Hall!”

  Clutching the fox fur robe tighter around her shoulders, Jessica poked her head out of the carriage window and scanned the frosty landscape that Francis’s noble family called home. Since the carriage paused just below a small rise, she could see nothing except her beloved mounted on his sturdy chestnut gelding. Despite the trepidation in her heart, she smiled to see him so happy. Pure joy had turned his handsome features into those of one of Bellini’s angels. All Francis needed was a thin golden halo over his windblown hair.

  He rode back to her. “The castle lies less than a mile from here,” he told her. “You will be able to see it when we cross over that hillock.” He beamed like a schoolboy on holiday.

  As casually as she could manage, she asked, “Perhaps your family are in London. After all, it is the Eastertide.”

  He tapped her cold nose with his gloved fingertip. “Fret not, sweetheart. The Cavendishes rarely go to court and only when it is absolutely necessary. I know they are at home and that they await us. Flags fly from every battlement of the castle. You will see it anon.”

  Jessica gripped her warm robe. “Do they know about me?” She touched her birthmark. “About this?”

  Still grinning, he leaned over in his saddle and kissed her forehead. “Sì, cara,” he replied. “I sent them letters at every port stop we made on that blasted journey. One or two of them are bound to have arrived by now.”

  “Oh,” she muttered, her uneasiness growing by the minute. Francis swore that his father’s family were good and kind. Jessica prayed that he spoke the truth. Maybe they would let her have her own little cottage in one of the villages that dotted the Cavendishes’ large estate, instead of tossing her out on the road like a Gypsy.

  Jobe, mounted on a large black horse, drew up beside the couple. “Banish the fear from your eyes, little one,” he told her with a wide smile on his face. “The Cavendishes accepted me at first sight and I am all black. You have only one little brown spot. Nothing!” He dismissed her shameful stain with a snap of his fingers.

  Jessica shivered though not with the chill damp wind that blew through her open window. Francis saw her trembling and smiled at her. “We burn daylight and
you are cold. Sit back inside and we will be off. Driver,” he shouted in English to the man he had hired in Newcastle where the Jinn had docked a few days ago, “Let us go on at a smart pace and make a brave show. Yonder is my home!”

  Francis wheeled his horse and raced to the crest of the rise, then disappeared over it with Jobe in hot pursuit. Both men shouted at the tops of their voices. Jessica pulled down the leather window cover and buckled it against the frigid air that cut through her like a knife blade. Then she buried herself deep inside the fur robe that Francis had bought for her on her first morning in this freezing country. With a sharp crack of the whip, the team of horses leaped forward. The leather springs rocked the carriage so violently that Jessica clung to one of the straps that hung beside her. ¡Dio mio! Let me arrive in one piece!

  The rollicking ride lasted a scant five minutes but to Jessica it seemed an eternity. She hoped that their luggage had not tumbled off onto the muddy road behind them. Her stomach felt queasy though whether it was the jolting ride or her nerves, she could not tell. She sighed with relief when the driver pulled his team to a stop. Someone rapped on the window cover.

  “Look, Jessica,” Francis said when she raised the shade. “It makes a grand sight!”

  Jessica gaped at the huge forbidding stone fortress before them. Its tan-colored stone walls glistened with a sheen of ice. Her slim thread of optimism snapped asunder. This rockpile was the ancestral home of a noble family? How unlike the beautiful gilded, pastel-colored palazzos of faraway Venice! Just then a number of unseen heralds on the battlements blew a fanfare on unseen trumpets. The martial notes hung in the crystal-cold air. A dozen or more flags of bright-colored silk snapped at their poles over the tooth-like crenels that lined the tops of the high walls. Over all the banners flew a blood-red one with the image of a silver wolf’s head. Jessica knew from her long shipboard conversations with Francis that she gazed upon the personal badge of the powerful Cavendish family.

  Before she could gather her scattered wits, Francis dismounted and swung open the carriage door. “Come, my love,” he said with warm encouragement. “It is not as grim as it looks once you are inside, I promise.” He helped her down to the cobblestones. “The original keep was built four hundred years ago to protect the countryside from the Vikings.” His deep blue Viking eyes danced with merriment. “Sometimes it didn’t work,” he added with a grin.

  A pack of the largest dogs Jessica had ever seen tumbled out of the massive double doors at the top of a low flight of stairs. She gripped Francis’s hand tighter and wondered if she would be eaten alive before she ever met the family.

  He chuckled in her ear. “The hall is always full of dogs—savage on the hunt but lambs in front of the hearth. Let them sniff you.”

  A dozen cold wet noses pushed through her fur robe and investigated her hands. One even licked her stiff fingers. Unused to dogs in general and such large ones in particular, Jessica gritted her teeth. A number of children in many ages and stages of dress followed the dogs.

  “Uncle Frank!” shouted a lusty boy of five or six years. He launched himself at Francis from the second to the bottom step.

  Francis dropped Jessica’s hand in time to catch the child. With a whoop, he swung the squealing boy high over his head. “Nay! Tis not young Tom, is it?” he asked. “Methought you were still in leading strings.”

  Young Tom flailed his fists and feet in the air. “Put me down, Uncle Frank. I am not a baby anymore!”

  A slightly older boy made a face. “Aye, but he still sucks his thumb.”

  “Heigh ho, Johnny!” Tucking the squirming Tom under one arm, Francis swept the second boy under his other. Turning, he presented the wriggling pair to Jessica. “My esteemed nephews,” he told her, speaking slowly in English so that she could understand his words. “The one on the left is John Hayward and this piglet on the right is Thomas Hayward, my godson.”

  Johnny pushed a hank of medium-brown hair out of his blue eyes and asked, “Did you bring us presents?”

  Jobe came up behind the boy and lifted him out of Francis’s grasp. “Oh, ho, young master, do you think your good uncle would not? I was there to make sure that he did.”

  Both children chortled with glee while other little ones clamored for attention. “For all of us?” asked one of the young serving maids.

  Jobe grinned at her. “Indeed, little miss, for every last one of you.”

  His announcement incited more joyful cries. The giant African appeared to be a particular favorite among the castle’s younger set, servants and family alike. Jessica adjusted her veil so that it would cover the half of her face that might frighten these adorable poppets. After six weeks in the company of sailors and Francis, she was cheered to see the children—and to see how comfortable Francis was in their company. He will make an excellent father one day. Jessica did not dare to think who would be the lucky mother of Francis’s future offspring.

  Hard on the heels of the children came a foursome of young adults dressed in rich velvets and damasks. The three girls with hair almost as dark as Jessica’s looked like triplets—a phenomenon that she had seen only once in Venice. The young man in their midst was as fair as they were dark. His cap of golden hair shone in the early afternoon sun and his eyes mirrored Francis’s own color. He bolted past the trio and grabbed Francis by his arms.

  “Tis high time you’ve come! We have been awaiting your arrival for over a week!”

  Francis laughed. “Hoy day, Kitt! When did you grow to be a man?”

  The tallest of the girls arched one dark brow. “Aye, Francis, we have been wondering the same thing—will Kitt ever grow up.”

  “And wondering when it will happen,” the middle girl added.

  The three broke into giggles among themselves.

  Francis chuckled. “Jessica Leonardo, my betrothed and my saving grace,” he said to the young man. To Jessica, he continued, “Christopher Cavendish, son of my lord…that is to say…of the new Earl of Thornbury.” A hint of sadness swept across his features for a moment. The heir! Aware that many eyes watched her every move, Jessica bowed her head and dropped Kitt a deep curtsy. “I am very honored to meet you, my lord,” she pronounced carefully.

  With a laugh, Kitt raised her up and held her cold hand within his. He cleared his throat. “Benvenuto a casa, Signorina Jessica,” he said slowly; his ravishing smile forgiving his rough accent. “You are most welcome to Wolf Hall.” He kissed her hand, then winked at her. “Did I say that well enough?” he asked.

  Touched by the thoughtfulness of his greeting in her own tongue, Jessica expressed her thanks in a quick rush of Italian, but Kitt shook his head.

  “Hold, good mistress,” he pleaded with a most charming grin. “You have heard the entire sum of my Italian vocabulary. I have been practicing for weeks ever since we got Francis’s letters.”

  Jessica returned the young man’s smile. “I am honored,” she repeated, meaning it this time. “You speak very well,” she added.

  “Your English puts my Italian in the shade,” he replied. He stepped closer to her. Before she realized what was his intention, he took her face between his hands and kissed her cold cheeks, first on her good side, then directly on her birthmark.

  Francis growled in the back of his throat. “Go find your own lady to woo, Kitt. Jessica is already spoken for.”

  “We will be friends, sì?” Kitt whispered before he stepped aside.

  “Aye,” she answered. At least she now had one ally in this cold country—besides Francis.

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw that more people crowded on the landing. The Cavendish family stood tall, golden and proud in their splendid clothing. Jessica marveled at the resemblance among them; even the dark-haired girls possessed the family’s looks. A young matron, her bright blond hair gleaming under her headdress, flew down the steps. With the cry, “Francis! You maggot!” she hurled herself into his arms.

  His face lighting up with brilliant joy, Francis hugged her,
murmuring, “Belle, Belle” over and over.

  A little worm of jealousy gnawed at Jessica’s heart. So this stunning lady was Francis’s beloved sister…or cousin as the case may be. Whichever, Belle was the one woman who had held the keys to his heart for most of his life—and the one whom Jessica most hoped would accept her. Adjusting her veil over her bad side, Jessica waited for Francis to make the introductions.

  After what seemed like an eternity, Francis set Belle back on her feet. “You must greet Jessica as warmly as a sister,” he told her. “She is very frightened,” he added in an undertone.

  Jessica overheard him. She squared her shoulders under her furs and attempted to look more confident than she felt. I will not be presented as a sniveling weakling. She executed another deep curtsy. “I am very honored to meet you, Lady Belle.”

  Jessica wished she had a better command of English to tell Francis’s sister how beautiful she was. They are all beautiful, Jessica realized with a pang of dismay. What was she doing here among this flock of golden angels? Why hadn’t Francis explained more fully what he had meant when he told her that all the Cavendishes looked alike? It was as if the frescoes on the walls of Venice’s many churches had come to life and had moved to the north of England. Jessica was not in the company of mere mortals but among the saints and angels in heaven—albeit a frosty heaven.

  Belle pressed her cheek against Jessica’s good one. “You are freezing to death,” she noted. “Francis, you clodpole! Jessica is not used to our weather. She will turn into a piece of ice if we linger out here.”

  Belle put her arm around Jessica and escorted her up the steps. Francis trailed behind them, leaving Jobe to cope with the children and the baggage. Jessica wanted to look over her shoulder to seek Francis’s reassurance but she didn’t dare to move her head for fear of revealing the hideous stain. Perhaps it will be dark and gloomy inside and no one will see it too quickly, she hoped. Yet Kitt had seen it and he had not shrunk away from her.