by Diane Nelson
The woman placed a calming hand on the old man's arm and spoke huskily, the words coming with difficulty. "We've come about Antonio. We … he needs your help."
Gathering his wits, Nico pulled the door completely open and called for his manservant. "Ferran! Ferran!" The sound of running feet on the ceramic tiles, followed by concerned chatter, seemed to agitate the old man even more.
"Come in, Paulo, signora?" He tenderly grasped the old man's arm and guided him into the foyer leaving the woman to follow unsteadily.
He fired rapid instructions to his staff to bring food and drink. Settling Paulo on a settee he turned to the diminutive woman and guided her to a stool where she could sit comfortably. Her dark eyes looked dull and lifeless, like all hope had been drained from her, leaving just a shell. He thought he recognized her but from her haggard appearance it was difficult to say.
His manservant brought a tray laden with goblets of water, wine and plates of cheese and dried meats. The woman drank her water gratefully but Paulo waved his away. Nico glanced at the woman who nodded at him. Obviously she was as concerned about the old man as he was.
"Ferran, take Paulo to our guest quarters."
Paulo protested, "No, signore…" but Nico insisted. Once Paulo had left the room, he sank to the settee and said, "Now, madam, tell me who you are and why you are here about my brother."
The woman spoke slowly, fighting for each word as exhaustion threatened to claim her. Nico detected a faint energy signature, the memory of it a niggling irritation.
Why can't I place you?
The woman hesitated, yet he sensed her agitation and confusion, as if she feared revealing too much.
What the hell is going on?
Nico disliked using his secret abilities on strangers but he knew he must risk it. Fear for Antonio beat like a drum in his skull. He sent out a probe, only to be met with a sense of welcoming relief.
Shit. This was the Frenchwoman! What was her name again?
"It's Veluria."
"Veluria. I must know. Will you allow…?"
She held up a hand and bit her bottom lip, then nodded assent. Too weary to shield herself, the woman held nothing back, every thought, every feeling flooded his senses.
Sweet Jesus. Antonio in love? That's not possible!
The woman, Veluria, frowned and said, "Believe it. But that is not the issue. Tonio has been taken by separatists who plan to hold him for ransom, torture him … oh signore, I don't know what they plan to do!"
Nico rose abruptly and left the room, his fury and fear so strong he knew he would swamp the woman with his out-of-control powers. Ferran met him in the antechamber.
"Call the captain of my guard. Ask him to meet me in one hour with his full complement."
Ferran nodded and hastened to do his master's bidding. Nico paced the small room, desperate to get his anger and worry under control. What he'd gleaned from the woman made no sense although every feeling, every sensation rang true.
He had to set aside that which he did not understand and instead focus on the immediate threat. He could only imagine what the separatists hoped to accomplish by detaining Tonio. His brother had little direct contact with the halls of power, operating instead in the shadows doing their father's bidding. But a Medici was a prize that could be parlayed into a sizable ransom payment since Cosimo's fondness for his sons was well-known.
If they were indeed in hiding at the coast, then the question was: who would they contact first? Him … or Cosimo? Everyone knew he attended to matters in Carlos' court, brokering deals and seeing to his family's interests. He would be the logical choice. However, given the fact that the deed was spur-of-the-moment, his ability to predict their next steps was severely hampered.
The other concern was that without a solid plan in place, the perpetrators of the kidnapping might not be disposed to treat his brother with kindness and consideration. And given Antonio's demeanor and reputation, it was likely he'd be subjected to the worst kind of torture.
They would not care if their captive was just mostly alive so long as they got their payment in full.
Shit shit shit.
"Signore?"
Nico spun to face Veluria. She gazed at him, her dark eyes pleading. With a wash of guilt he realized he was being an ass, treating the woman without consideration for the trials she'd been through. The trip, and her despair over Antonio, had drained her reserves so that she could barely function.
He said, kindly, "Forgive me, madam. I will take you to a guestroom. You may take your rest and freshen up." He took her arm to guide her to the rear of the hacienda.
"No, please."
"Madam, you must rest. Let me see to this…"
"Nico … may I call you Nico?" He nodded yes so she continued, "You don't understand. I can help you find him."
"I appreciate your offer, but leave this to me." He was not about to explain his and Tonio's link. He would feel his brother's essence, even from a distance. He just needed to get close enough.
The woman said quietly, "It won't be enough. He is hurt, Nico. He does not know himself. He won't know you."
Angrily he growled, "And you know this how?"
Weakly she replied, "Because I am like you … but more." She stared at him, willing him to believe.
"All right. I will accept what you say, for now. But you will rest. We have a hard journey ahead of us and I will not be slowed down by a…" He was about to say 'a weak woman' but thought better of it when she glared at him with a thunderous expression.
"Can you ride, madam?"
"Well enough."
"Then I shall procure suitable attire. Your skirts will not suit for this travel."
He pointed down the hall and said, "First door on your right. I shall send Marie to tend to your needs." He turned away but she grabbed his arm and turned him toward her.
"We will find him, Nico."
He gave her a dark look, his face set in rigid determination. "We will indeed. Veluria."
He left her weaving uncertainly down the hall and strode quickly to meet with his captain. They would need to travel fast and light, keeping provisioning to a minimum.
He had a bad feeling they were quickly running out of time.
Don't you fucking die on me, Tonio. Don't give up. I'm coming for you.
Chapter Twenty
Friedrich examined his prospective son-in-law with interest. The reports had not done the young man justice. He carried a prettiness about him—a fey quality—yet there was something rough-edged too, as if the boy-to-man transition had taken an unexpected turn. He sensed that there might be interesting depths to plumb beyond the surface naiveté.
"Does he meet with your satisfaction?" The leer in the man's voice was unmistakable. He was used to it.
Ignoring his secretary, Friedrich moved to the other side of the narrow viewing slit, tiptoeing on the ledge to get a better perspective on the room below. His quarry passed in and out of his view as he paced about the antechamber, not so much nervous as bored.
Boredom was good. He had entertainments enough to satisfying the most discriminating tastes. With a grimace he backed down the ladder, taking care with foot placement lest he appear clumsy. His secretary had been with him for years but still … it did nothing for his image to land in a heap on the stone floor.
The man continued, "Have you decided which of your daughters to present for his pleasure?" He dipped a quill in an inkwell, pausing to look up, the droplets settling about the edge of the pot. "I will need a name for the contract, sire."
"Name? Oh yes. Um, I had thought of bringing each one forward for the Medici's inspection."
He suspected that was not a particularly good move, given his daughters' wildly differing sensibilities. His secretary confirmed his doubts with a vigorous shake of his head.
"Well, Gustav, you seem to have some strong opinions on this matter. Perhaps you would care to enlighten me with your … erudition?" Friedrich's voice oozed with menace as he move
d to tower over the seated figure. The quill quivered in the man's fingers, leaving splotches of ink to fall on the stone floor. Most times he indulged his man's sometimes bold nature. Today he wasn't disposed to be as accommodating.
Not when so much rested on making the right choice.
Gustav stuttered, "S-s-sire, f-forgive me, but I think, perchance, Wiltrud would be the proper bride for your purposes."
Interesting, she hadn't been his first choice but he was curious to hear the man's assessment. Withdrawing far enough to allow the quaking man some breathing room, he said, "Go on."
"Rumor has it, your eldest, Marie, may have the special attention of Duke Willem." At Friedrich's raised eyebrow the man hastened to continue, "A most unsuitable match, to be sure, given the man's age and circumstances." Before Friedrich could comment, he held up a finger and said, "The Duke's territories would be a useful buffer against Vladislav's ambitions."
Friedrich mumbled, "Fair enough," pausing to think on that option. Marie was the least clever and least attractive of his three daughters. Placing her with a man in his dotage would preclude her producing grandchildren for his benefit, but there were worst fates to be sure. And covering his ass with an ally on his eastern boundary had become an imperative given the posturing and bald-faced aggression from some of the neighboring duchies.
Curious now, he asked, "And why is this just coming to my attention?" He didn't care for surprises, not when it came to matters of state.
Gustav swallowed and gripped the edge of the writing desk, staring hard at the tapestries lining the walls as if to draw inspiration for the expected explanation. Sweat beaded his brow but he decided to skirt around his failure to alert his sire to the rumors floating about the court, trivial as they seemed.
Visibly garnering his resolve, Gustav said, "Margaret is still young and unformed. She would be unsuitable for Stefano de' Medici given his reputation and experience…" he lowered his eyes and murmured, "…and proven potency."
Rigid with irritation he glared at his secretary but the man's eyes remained pinned to his inkwell. What vaguely amused him was his secretary taking him to task about any potential impropriety rather than concerning himself with why his master had made that particular selection in the first place.
However, Gustav had a point about the girl being not much more than a child, despite the fact he had based his decision on other considerations. He snarled, "She is fourteen, soon to be fifteen. That's old enough."
Margaret was his favorite, flighty but full of fun. She tasked him daily with her antics. By bringing the Medici lad to his court he'd hoped to keep his youngest close and under his direct supervision. He didn't like when someone cast doubt on his decisions, yet the man did, on occasion, keep him from making a fool of himself.
Staring at Gustav, he said, "Wiltrud," with distaste. She'd been an unlikeable child, dull and obstinate to a fault and she'd grown into a cantankerous young woman with an unappealing demeanor. She was not unpleasing to the eye, but her strident tones and incessant whining taxed all who served her.
His secretary was all too aware of Wiltrud's shortcomings. Why would he think she'd be the more suitable candidate?
"Sire, the Medici boy will most certainly fulfill his duties admirably and produce an heir in short order." As if sensing he walked on uncertain ground, the man hastily qualified his statement. "With any daughter you so choose."
"But…?" Friedrich could guess what was coming. His secretary had been the unfortunate recipient of Wiltrud's particular deprecations more times than he could count, her hatred for the man almost palpable. Gustav had no reason to defend his daughter, and every reason to see that she be placed in an uncompromising situation.
Yes, indeed. If Gustav's hint that the willful brat could hold up to certain … punishments, then perhaps the idea did have merit.
Clearly uncomfortable, his secretary spoke hesitantly. "The, um, guard who returned Stefano de' Medici to our safekeeping relayed certain, uh, observations about the boy's proclivities."
Friedrich kept his face impassive. He had also been privy to the rumor and innuendo. That much explained Gustav's recommendation. Although he disliked the roundabout way his secretary arrived at his suggestion, the logic behind it had a certain appeal.
Friedrich said, "I see your point about Margaret being too young," and too innocent, though he avoided voicing that concern.
He'd have preferred delaying the final decision, perhaps manipulating the courtship period, but in truth time was his enemy with events across the continent proceeding apace. He'd demanded the immediate presence of the suitor and Cosimo had been more than accommodating in allowing him to dispatch his own men to see that his wishes were met.
Friedrich understood and appreciated Cosimo's motives in agreeing to the union of their houses. Whether or not the young man was on board with their plans was another matter entirely. It would be best to proceed with alacrity.
He approached the lectern and tapped on the parchment. "Wiltrud it is. Well done, Gustav, well done indeed."
Before the man could puff up with pride, Friedrich gave him a feral grin and purred, "We'll see to your reward … later."
The man's face drained of all color but he bent his head to the task. Friedrich rather liked stoics when he was in the mood for a bit of relaxed sport.
With a quick brush of his tunic, he advanced to the door and said mostly to himself, "Well, let's take the measure of Cosimo's pup, shall we?"
With a flourish he stalked into the antechamber to greet his guest.
****
Stefano fidgeted under the intense scrutiny of the Duke and his court toadies. The trip had been a nightmare of sleepless nights and long, hot canters over rough terrain through the Swiss territories. Friedrich's Guards had been willing enough companions; but tasked as they were to bring him to the castle in the shortest time possible, that left him little opportunity for the pleasantries he so enjoyed. Upon his arrival he'd been primped and polished and dandied up to suit the Duke's peculiar fashion tastes. Now he stood on display, fully aware of his responsibilities and the expectations of his family.
As Friedrich introduced his intended, he noted without interest her plain features—horse-faced he and his drinking companions would have dubbed her—but her build was satisfying, plump in all the right places. Unfortunately she displayed a haughty demeanor, brow set in what looked to be a perpetual frown, and the glint in her eye gave her a less-than-welcoming presence.
Stefano had hoped for an undemanding consort, one content to manage her clutch of children, tending to her needlework and whatever other duties the Habsburg spawn used to fill their days, leaving him free to find his pleasures elsewhere.
He had a feeling that even Antonio would have turned tail and run from the arrogant martinet paraded for his approval.
As if I have a fucking choice.
As he engaged in the polite salutations and feigned a vague display of interest in the young woman whose name grated on his nerves, Stefano let his mind wander, thinking back to the last time he'd seen her.
He still felt the sting of Veluria's rejection, her harsh words even now ringing in his ears, shutting out the incessant background droning about plans presented as if he had a say in the matters of state. He knew that to be a falsehood. He was here as his father's puppet. Nico had made that clear during their brief encounter in Spagna—before Friedrich's Guards had whisked him away to an uncertain destiny.
Why am I not surprised to see you here, Nico? Still Father's errand boy? Are you going to make sure I don't embarrass the family again?
Nico ignored the insult as he always did. There seemed nothing he could do or say to rattle the man, something he ached to do for he hated the closeness—the bond—that Nico and Tonio had had since they were children. He was ever the odd one out, though both doted on him, spoiling him at every opportunity. Somehow it was never enough.
He'd listened with half an ear as his brother explained what he called 'th
e facts of life' and assured him of the rightness of decisions made on his behalf, for the good of the family and ultimately for his own good. And without a backward glance he'd strode off, leaving him with the Guards and his damned destiny.
Well, he would serve the family's interests for now. But when the time suited, he would chose a path more aligned with his developing needs and desires.
Friedrich waved off his disapproving daughter and her panicked handmaidens—who knew full well that their mistress' displeasure would come with a cost— and bade his entourage to leave them alone. Once the room cleared, he approached the young man and took his elbow.
"Kommst mit mir, Stefano." Friedrich noted the boy's puzzled expression, then smiled slyly and switched to his heavily accented Italian. "Come, please. We can talk and I have a few things that might interest you. Things to make your stay perhaps more pleasant."
Friedrich smiled to himself. The reports from his informant had hinted at activities on board the ship that bode well for developing a very particular relationship with his soon-to-be new son-in-law.
As he steered the young man toward his private chambers, Friedrich asked, "How old are you, boy?"
Stefano looked puzzled at the question but quickly replied, "I am approaching one-and-twenty, sire."
The older man chuckled and said, "Just Friedrich when we are alone, my boy. There is no reason to stand on formalities now that we shall be so intimately aligned."
His curiosity obviously peaked, Stefano followed him obediently through the bedchambers and down a steep staircase that led, level after level, into the lower reaches of the castle. Friedrich guided him into a chamber from which the door could be locked from the inside for privacy, but which he left propped open, causing the torches to flare and waver, casting strange shadows on the walls.
Despite the enclosed, windowless space, the room was not stuffy. Fresh rushes had been recently applied to the smooth stone floor and the walls were dry and hung with muted tapestries in deep burgundy and blue shades. It had the feel of a drawing room, albeit on the chill side since the large fireplace at the rear of the long, narrow space sparked with dying embers.