by Diane Nelson
"Veluria, don't leave me, please," he whispered into her tangled mass of hair, one hand stroking her cheek, the other pressed against her back.
With a start he realized the fabric was sticky and when he pulled his hand away it was slick with blood.
"Sweet Jesus, what is this?"
Turning Veluria over, he stared tight-lipped at the streaks of blood imprinted on the thin blouse. With trembling fingers he took his blade and sliced through the fabric, revealing pale ridges of welts in a pattern he recognized. She'd been whipped, though not recently. These were old wounds, healed over, yet now some split and opened afresh, spilling her heart's blood.
Willing power into her frail form, he crushed her to his chest and made a deal with deities he did not quite believe in. Throat tight, he hummed a lullaby he'd crooned to his daughter, the infant he'd held close—in his mind and in his heart but never in his arms, kept away from his child through spite and hatred and vindictiveness.
He'd vowed never to shed another tear, yet as darkness fell and the woman barely clinging to life continue to slip from his grasp, all he had left were his tears. Pulling a worn blanket about her, he determined to stave off the icy tendrils of death welcoming them both.
"I'll do it. Whatever it takes. Just tell me what to do, Veluria," his voice cracked with emotion. Begging he cried, "Please. Don't leave me. I don't want to be alone anymore."
****
Veluria registered soft murmurings, a voice echoing down a long, dark tunnel, then the sharp sting and burn, igniting her back in blazing heat. Groaning, she cried out, "Stop! What the hell are you doing?"
"Cleaning your wounds, sweetheart. Be still. I know it hurts."
Hurt? 'Hurt' didn't touch it. She squirmed but Nico had her in a vice grip and wasn't letting go. What the hell had happened? He was obviously treating wounds of some kind. Had she fallen? She couldn't remember…
"This will feel better." The man didn't sound as sure as she would have liked given the extent of discomfort she suffered.
My back, what's the matter with my back?
"Nico…?"
"I'm sorry, love. I can't put you out like Tonio could. I don't know how." The effort to speak his brother's name took an obvious toll as he paused for several heartbeats before saying, "Give the tallow some time to work."
She yelped in surprise as the hot wax coated her raw flesh, his fingers carefully spreading the cooling makeshift salve with a gentleness that surprised and impressed her.
"Is that better?"
She mumbled a string of curses into the rough cloth of his jerkin then stopped when he hissed a breath and went still. He carefully lifted her up and set her down on the bunk, then rose and stood over her, a peculiar expression on his face. She allowed her eye to travel down his long torso, confirming what she suspected.
The tall man picked up the bowl and soiled cloths and set them on the small table. She thought he might withdraw but instead he came to kneel next to her, lightly stroking her hair.
"Rest now."
"Nico, what happened?"
"I'm not sure. You have old wounds that opened. Almost as if they were new."
Dear Holy Mother. Stefano. The willow stick. How could she have forgotten? What was happening to her?
"Something's wrong, Nico. None of this is right." She rose to her elbows with difficulty, the tallow cracking and sloughing off but the pain had lessened to where she hardly noticed it.
The man's face was a terrible thing to observe. Anger and dismay and a thousand other emotions played across his features.
"My brother did this." The man's eyes turned dark with killing rage. He spat out, "Both of them."
Sputtering, "No, don't ," her throat caught as she struggled to say the man's name, "don't blame Antonio."
She sat up with an effort, all too aware she bared her breasts to his hungry gaze. He reached down and pulled the blue-black tresses forward, arranging the long strands carefully to cover her nakedness. His fingers grazed the soft flesh, sending a chill up her spine, heat pooling between her legs. It was an unexpected consideration, an unexpected … pleasure.
"Forgive me, M'lady, I ruined your garment. I will find something else for you to wear." He spoke stiffly and she worried he had reason to be angry with her though she couldn't figure out why.
"No, M'lady. My anger is for Antonio who unleashed the corruption in Stefano."
She'd forgotten he could read her thoughts when her defenses were down. Everything she'd been taught, all that had come automatically, a result of training and discipline, flew in the face of the man's superior power. In the deepest recesses of her mind, the one place she still controlled, she wondered if this man, the key, was more powerful than all of them.
The man's face remained grimly stretched tight over sharp-edged cheek bones, dark stubble adding danger and allure in equal measure. Fine lines radiated from wide-set blue-grey eyes, the brows coming together in a stern expression. With his thin lips set in a straight line he looked like a man who faced life with a dour austerity, yet she'd seen him relaxed and at ease with his men, laughing and joking. She'd liked that man. This one she wasn't as sure about.
"It wasn't his fault, Nico. The darkness in Stefano was always there. It would have come out no matter what." She grimaced, remembering the subtle signs that she'd used to her advantage to bind the young man to her. Of them all, she'd been the most culpable. She'd awakened the beast. Antonio had simply opened the door.
Reverend Mother, I should not be here. Bring me home before I lose myself.
When the time is right, my child. Only then.
Nico stared at her oddly, as if he could almost hear that particular conversation, one designed to be a closely guarded secret. But that wasn't possible. Even linked, he should not be privy to those most covert thoughts.
His mouth curled upward in a cruel parody of a smile. He said softly, "There is blame enough to go around, M'lady."
She was growing weary of the formality, the incessant use of 'M'lady' in an effort to distance himself from his desire. Every instinct dictated that she unleash her wiles, force him to acknowledge and move on his lust. At least then she would be on familiar footing, and not engaged in a cat-and-mouse game of reluctant seduction.
"Be careful what you wish for, Veluria." He stood over her and stared, his blue eyes crystalline and sharp, hard as diamonds. At that moment in time he looked like he hated and loved her in equal measure. When he finally spoke, the threat pierced her like an icicle through the heart. "You won't like me that way."
"You said 'when we find comfort in each other's arms'. Do you remember?"
"Yes, I remember. But today is not that day." He turned and left the cabin so quickly she barely registered his leaving.
****
Damn his foolish heart. The woman vexed him, tempted him beyond a man's endurance. He was beginning to appreciate why both his brothers had fallen under her spell. But he was not them.
He knew a thing they had not. Veluria was destined to be his … but on his terms, not hers. And nothing, no one, would stand in his way. He planned to possess her and keep her safe, even if he had to destroy both their worlds to make it so. When she'd nearly slipped away, he'd been shocked and dismayed at the level of his despair. Whatever happened, losing her was not an option, but he wasn't foolish enough to think he controlled his own destiny.
What do I need to do to convince you to stay with me?
She'd been sent to safeguard her world. His destiny lay on a different path. He must vouchsafe his house and his lineage, and Veluria was the means to accomplish that. Cosimo understood that better than any of them, his gift of prescience shared the night before he'd embarked for Spagna. Yet, as with all things, there was a murkiness to the prognostication that left far too much room for interpretation and misguided judgments.
She thought them all naïve and unschooled, unable to understand the particulars—and in some ways she was correct. But the more time he spent with her, th
e more he penetrated her powers, the easier it was to adjust to a new mindset.
The captain of the vessel interrupted his thoughts. "We'll be making port by morning, sir. Is there anything you need before then?"
"Um, yes. Do you happen to have any women's clothing on board?"
The captain gave him a sly smile and nodded yes.
"Well then, bring what you have. My lady desires clean clothes before disembarking." He motioned to the cabin and said, "Leave them by the door. I will see that she gets them."
The captain tipped the brim of his cap and turned away.
Nico continued to stare at the rolling waves, the weather still unsettled, causing the ship to pitch uncomfortably. He was hungry, his belly growling, but the hunger extended far beyond that.
Yes, I remember, M'lady. But I want more than comfort, more than simple sexual release. I don't want your false promises.
What I want is a sacrifice I do not deserve. I want you to choose.
I want you to choose … me.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The Monsignor looked displeased enough to give even Andreas pause. Much resided on the man's ambitions, and connections, to ease his path. If he withdrew his patronage, Andreas would be forced to secure other means to insinuate himself into the Habsburg stronghold.
The sense of urgency, of time speeding up, had engulfed him with an almost physical presence when he'd exited the gateway, wiping away the satisfaction of his lover's embrace. It was a rude reminder that the games he played had consequences—and he'd been removed from the chessboard long enough that he was now at a disadvantage.
"It's been weeks. I hope you have something worth my time, Andreas."
"Your Holiness, please forgive me, but…" he parted his robe to expose the still weeping wound on his leg, "…I was injured in my travels and was forced to seek shelter until I healed enough to return to Venice." Silently he thanked Matteo who had come up with the excuse, and his scientists with their clever devices.
"Return to Venice?" The Monsignor raised an eyebrow in interest.
"I had intelligence from a reliable source that the Demon had pursued his younger brother to Spagna in order to bring him back to the fold." He gave the prelate a quizzical glance, not sure how much the man knew about Cosimo's plans for the pup.
"Explain."
Andreas launched into what he knew about the flight, filling in details where necessary but leaving it vague enough that should the man hear the real story he could lay any misinformation at the feet of unreliable rumor.
"By the time I had healed sufficiently and managed to reach Castile, it was too late to determine what actually happened. All I knew was that the Demon was headed west, toward the Portuguese border. I decided to follow that lead as per your instructions." He sighed with regret, "I fear I do not know the fate of the youngest Medici."
"Cosimo's youngest is now firmly entrenched at Friedrich's court." The man did not look happy at that state of affairs. With Florence and the Papàl States all currying favor with the nominal rulers of half the continent, the Monsignor's understanding with Siena looked to be on shaky ground. With Habsburg backing, the Famiglia Medici stood to make Tuscany a major economic and political power in the region.
Andreas merely said, "Ah," and continued with his report. While the scribe diligently recorded pertinent details, the Monsignor looked bored and inattentive. That changed abruptly when Andreas said, "The Demon is dead, your Holiness."
"Antonio de' Medici? Dead?" He leaned forward, palms splayed on the mahogany desk, and growled, "Are you quite sure about that?"
"Yes."
"And you know this … how?"
Andreas paused before continuing. The Order had nothing substantial he could use to explain how and why the Demon had died, just that he had—and the location. He knew all too well that the devil was truly in the details and that plausibility rested solidly on perception. The Monsignor was canny and perceptive. For that only the truth would suffice.
"Only by rumor, Holiness." He moved toward the desk, glancing furtively left, then right. Whispering so that only the prelate could hear, he said, "The young one's brother was part of it. She had no reason to deceive me for how could she possibly discern my interest?"
With a wave of his hand, the Monsignor dismissed the scribe. When they were able to talk freely, the Monsignor asked, "Do you have any details?"
"Regretfully, no. It seemed enough to establish the veracity of the claim without pressing for unnecessary details." He gave the man a sly grin. "I was, after all, occupied with other pursuits."
The Monsignor laughed out loud. "So your … appetites continue to stand you in good stead. Well done, Father." He stood and moved toward his quarters but before exiting the chamber he asked, "Have you done sufficient penance, my son?"
Heat pooled in Andreas' groin, his cock responding to the implied promise. He lowered his head and sighed, "No, Sire, I fear no penance shall ever be enough."
"Well then, retire to your quarters and rest. You shall join me on the morrow. We make haste to Friedrich's court."
"You, Holiness?"
"Hmm, yes. I was fortunate enough to secure the Papàl Legate's charge to extend best wishes on the happy union of those houses. Friedrich stands to gain some importance now that Cosimo has singled him out for Florence's special attentions." His tone turned sharp. "Our interests, and those of Venice, must be seen to."
Andreas muttered, "I understand," and turned to leave.
As he limped to the door, the Monsignor called out, "Father? Should I send someone to assist you with your meditations?"
Without turning around, he simply nodded assent, a grin splitting his features. With any luck his meditations would include the young novitiate. For all her inexperience, he'd rather enjoyed that encounter.
In the meantime, he would use the seclusion to concentrate on finding the whereabouts of Veluria. Her presence was a palpable thing, yet he knew she was not in the city, a fact that distressed him and taxed his patience.
The Sisterhood's operative would have come to the same conclusion as the Council. Whatever was about to happen was centered on the Habsburg court. She would be there. He counted himself fortunate that he understood the power of anticipation—something Matt had taught him. Once he sorted out the major players and determined the sequence of events, he would decide how best to secure the prize … Veluria.
He'd almost dozed off when a tap on the door roused him from the near slumber. The same girl stood transfixed in the doorway, eyes lowered demurely, but when he took her hand he sensed an eagerness that had been lacking before.
He gently removed the cape, pleased to find she'd been allowed to grow her hair back, the dark brown curls a short cap on her lovely head. Pressing her to her knees he parted his robe and fondled the silky strands as her clever tongue explored with bold strokes.
He would not be returning to this wretched time and place. There would be none to care about a young sinner who succumbed to the joys of the flesh. He fingered his stiletto, willing patience. The night was long and there was no need to rush.
****
Nico lowered himself from the carriage, surprised at how stiff and sore he felt. He didn't like to admit it, but he wasn't the man he used to be. He turned to assist Veluria, helping her gather the folds of the rich gown to keep the hem from scraping on the wet stones.
She seemed marginally better, the wounds finally healing after he'd insisted she see a surgeon in Rome. The Pope had sent his personal aide once Nico explained the need for discretion. He'd not planned on revealing Antonio's death to anyone but Cosimo, but circumstances dictated otherwise. Leo was his father's right hand, and owed his position as pope solely to his family connections. Of the few people in the world he trusted, his father's cousin was one of them.
In a way, telling Leo had taken the hard edge of pain away, not making the telling any easier but at least it gave him a template to use once he confronted Cosimo. His father would de
mand details and there would be no way to hide his final solution. The man's powers would never allow such a deception.
Are you worried?
No … yes. I'm not looking forward to this.
Do you wish me to be there when you tell him?
No, sweetheart. This is best done without you being there.
He chuckled and felt a wave of relief when Veluria flashed him an answering smile. The silent communication suited them, building a layer of trust, one day at a time. Unfortunately their link was often unreliable, a fact that irritated him more than Veluria. She seemed to find his ability to penetrate her thoughts disconcerting at best.
What would she think if she knew of his power to access that most secret of places … her link with the woman she called Reverend Mother?
"You need to rest. The journey was not easy and I am concerned that you still suffer those … episodes." Nico understood all too well what was happening to his woman and he felt powerless to stop it. He hoped his father—if he could get past his grief—would be able to shed some light on how to deal with it.
"All right but we'll need to talk, all of us together. Soon." She pinched her mouth shut, the tension closing her eyes to dark slits.
"I understand the need for haste. But we must have a plan. It serves none of our ends to rush in without understanding all that has transpired." He waved his manservant forward. "Take my lady to my quarters and see to her comfort, Tomas."
The man looked mildly surprised but recovered quickly and took Veluria's arm, leading her into the palazzo and disappearing from view. Nico took a deep breath and waited outside for his father's summons, muted bird song and the distant sounds of gardeners tending to the estate's grounds helped settle his racing heart.
"Sir?"
Nico startled but gathered himself and followed Cosimo's secretary into his father's private suite.