The Wind Dancer/Storm Winds

by Iris Johansen

  Her eyes opened to see him rise to his feet, a massive shadow in the predawn gloom. He moved swiftly across the room to the door and tossed harshly over his shoulder, “Cover yourself.”

  She drew the coverlet over her, her gaze fixed in bewilderment on his broad back. He had wanted her. She had been sure he would ignore her words and take her. Why had he not done it?

  “My mother may come here and try to drive you away.” He opened the door. “She does not want you here for reasons of her own. You must not let her words hurt you. I will deal with her when I return.”

  “It’s natural that she wishes to protect Bianca.”

  His lips twisted cynically. “It’s Mandara she wishes to protect.” He turned at the door. “I cannot blame her for fighting for what she wants. Life has not been easy for her. We all must …” He trailed off, looking at her. “Will you wish me a good journey?”

  “You don’t need my good wishes.”

  He flinched, and then shrugged. “You’re right. I have done very well without them until now.” He started to turn. “Goodbye, Sanchia.”

  A thread of pain ran beneath the carelessness of his words, waking a strange echoing ache within Sanchia. Her hands gripped the coverlet hard to keep back the words he’d asked of her. They came anyway. “Good journey, Lion.”

  He stopped and stayed framed in the doorway for an instant. Then he quickly shut the door behind him.

  Sanchia sank back against the pillows and turned on her side, gazing at the door leading to the balcony. Her breasts were swollen, the aureoles of her nipples still distended and aching. Santa Maria, she didn’t want to feel lust burning through her. It was as unwelcome as the tenderness she felt for him. As unwelcome as the impulse she’d had to call him back.

  Sweet Jesus, how she had wanted to call him back.

  The winds of dawn blew crisp and cold on Lion’s face as he rode out of the gates of the city.

  He needed that cold, Lion thought grimly, as he put Tabron to a gallop. He gazed blindly at the sky now turning from pearl to palest pink. Why had he stopped? Unwilling or not, her response had been as strong as his own and he would soon have been able to quench her resistance.

  Why had he not done it?

  This inner conflict had to end. The emotions Sanchia aroused in him were like nothing he had ever felt before, alternating between lust and a strange, wistful tenderness. It was all madness.

  He must think. He must find a way to resolve his dilemma and put an end to this lunacy with Sanchia.

  “You no longer have the Wind Dancer?” Borgia asked softly. “I believe I cautioned you about offering it to anyone else, Damari. My father has written expressing interest in it … such interest he informs me of his plan to travel to Cesena to inspect it. I don’t intend to disappoint him.”

  “You will not disappoint him, Your Magnificence,” Damari said quickly. “If you’ll but write him to delay his trip for a few short weeks, I’m sure we will be able to retrieve the Wind Dancer.”

  “We?” Borgia smiled. “You expect my help? If my help is given, then no further payment is required. Is that what you wish?”

  Damari felt the frustration and rage rising in him and sought desperately to control his temper. “Andreas managed to get the statue back through no fault of my own. My information is that it has been returned to Mandara. My condotti is small and the city well guarded. If you could just let me have the service of the forces you’ve quartered in Cesena, I could—”

  “My God, are you mad? I’m surrounded by rebellion and discord here in the Romagna. You wish me to lend you an army when it might mean putting down an insurrection here when you deign to return it?” Borgia shook his head. “You offered me a bargain and I hold you to the terms of it. You supply the Wind Dancer and my father supplies a dukedom.”

  Damari’s eyes widened in excitement. “The holy father agreed to my terms?”

  “I told you he had expressed interest.” Borgia smiled. “But if you cannot furnish me with the Wind Dancer, perhaps I’ll go after it myself. After the Romagna is completely secure, I could launch an attack on Mandara.”

  “No!” Damari said sharply. “The statue is mine.”

  “Then bring it to me.”

  “I must have time to make plans.”

  “I’ll write my father that there’s been a slight delay,” Borgia told him. “Only a slight delay. In five weeks’ time I go to Rome with either the Wind Dancer in my hands or you by my side to explain to him why I don’t have it in my possession. Tell me, Damari, have you ever been to Rome?”

  Damari shook his head. “I have not had that pleasure.”

  “A magnificent city with a lovely river winding through it. Perhaps you’ve heard that my own dear brother was found floating in the river Tiber with many knife wounds in his body. No one has ever determined who tossed him into the water since little attention is paid to such an act. So common an occurrence in Rome.” He paused. “Do I make myself clear?”

  “You always make yourself clear, my lord.”

  Borgia turned away contemptuously. “Then you may go, Damari.”

  He was being dismissed like the lowliest lackey. Damari smothered the venom rising within him and forced himself to bow courteously. “Be assured I’ll find a way of obtaining the Wind Dancer with no trouble or expense to you. My apologies for suggesting you aid me, my lord duke. I was only concerned for the disappointment of His Holiness.”

  “You’ll gain my forgiveness when I have the Wind Dancer. I expect you here in five weeks’ time.”

  “I’ll be here.” Damari, bowing obsequiously, backed from the room.

  He abruptly straightened after he had closed the door, standing quite still while he fought the bitterness boiling through him. Only a short time ago it had been he who had controlled both Borgia and the pope. Now he was no longer the duke’s equal but subservient once more.

  And he had come so close!

  No matter. He would regain his power and status as soon as he reclaimed the Wind Dancer. There would be no more bowing and scraping once he had what Borgia wanted.

  But how to get it?

  Bribery had succeeded once, but it was doubtful that Andreas would allow even the most trusted servant close enough to steal the statue again. Damari would be foolish to launch his small condotti against Mandara in the vain hope that luck would carry the day. Andreas was too able a commander and Mandara too strong a fortress to fall without overwhelming numbers launched against it in the field.

  Not bribery. Not force. The elimination of both weapons meant he would have to wait and study the situation to find a way to overcome the disadvantages he was facing. In the meantime, a spy could be insinuated into the town, if not into the castle itself, and surely he would be able to think of something before the five weeks Borgia had given him expired. He had not raised himself to his present status by lacking in imagination.

  Damari descended the stone steps to the courtyard where a lackey was holding the reins of his horse. Swinging up into the saddle he noted the sky was leaden, clouds roiling, scudding with the wind preceding a storm. He was going to get a wetting before he reached shelter but he refused to go back to Borgia and beg to stay.

  He lifted his head and smiled as a gust of moist wind touched his cheeks. Besides, he would not mind riding through the rain. The fact that the storm was heading north was a good portent. Mandara lay due north, safe and snug and arrogant in its small world.

  And a storm was coming to Mandara also, as soon as he thought of a way to send it thundering over Lion Andreas and his bitch of a mother.

  And the little slave, Sanchia.

  He’d been startled when Andreas had launched an attack on Solinari to get her back. Clearly she was important to his foe.

  Yes, he’d have to be sure his plans for the future held a prominent place for the slave girl.

  Twelve

  I do not wish to look at one more piece of goods,” Sanchia said firmly as she turned away from the sh
op of a leather craftsman.

  Lorenzo halted as he saw the determination on Sanchia’s face. “Oh, very well. We’ve bought many lengths of fine fabric, the dressmaker has your measurements now, and she can work ’round the clock without you. Still, I do not understand you in this. You are not behaving with the enthusiasm I thought you’d show, considering your former deprivation.”

  “I must be careful not to take too much,” she said soberly. “It would be foolish to become accustomed to riches that can never be mine.”

  “How depressingly sensible. They could be yours if you’d be amenable.”

  She shook her head, beginning to walk across the square toward her house. “I won’t stay here longer than I have to do so.”

  “Why not? Mandara is a very pleasant place to live. Ask anyone. Lion has built many things of beauty, while he levies few taxes, and his laws are strict but fair. Lady Caterina makes sure the poor are fed and the sick are cared for.” He smiled. “Why should you want to go back to Florence when Mandara can give you so much?”

  “I may not go back to Florence. I don’t know where I’ll go, but I won’t stay here.” She met his gaze. “And you know why, Lorenzo.”

  “None of us is really free, Sanchia.”

  “I’d like to see if I could prove you wrong. I don’t know anything but servitude and I’ll have to learn the way of freedom. When I first awoke on the ship I thought everything was so clear and that I was strong enough to shift the world.” She shook her head ruefully. “But now I realize it’s as if I have just been born and have to learn everything from the beginning.”

  “I would wait until Lion freed me before venturing into these realms of knowledge.”

  “You know he won’t do so. I must free myself … when the opportunity arises.” She paused. “Why did Lion go to Florence?”

  “Can’t you guess?”

  “Caprino?”

  Lorenzo nodded. “He can’t get his hands on Damari at present, so he’s settling for Caprino.”

  She shivered. “Caprino is a dangerous man.”

  “But so is Lion,” Lorenzo said calmly. “And Caprino will pose no problem for him. Don’t worry; if I’d thought otherwise I would have gone with him.”

  Sanchia quickly averted her eyes. “Why should I worry?”

  “You might ask yourself that question. The answer could—” He stopped and then smiled. “I believe you have visitors, Sanchia.”

  Sanchia’s gaze followed Lorenzo’s to the two horses tied at the iron garden gate. “Lady Caterina?”

  “I’m sure you can expect a call from her shortly, but that’s not her horse. If I’m not mistaken, your visitors are Marco and Bianca.”

  Sanchia winced. Sweet Mary, she didn’t want to see Lion’s wife again. The very thought of Bianca brought a surge of unreasoning guilt mixed with an emotion even more incomprehensible and infinitely more base in nature. “What is she doing here?”

  “Her charitable duty, no doubt.” Lorenzo took Sanchia’s elbow and propelled her forward through the shallow garden. “But I’m glad they decided to come. I believe you’ll find their visit very illuminating.”

  “Illuminating?” Sanchia asked, puzzled.

  Lorenzo opened the front door and stepped aside for her to precede him. “You have keen eyes, use them.”

  “Sanchia!” Bianca rushed forward, a smile lighting her face. “I hope you don’t mind our visiting so soon. I wanted to go to the cathedral this morning and took the opportunity to bring you a strengthening herbal remedy.”

  “No, of course I don’t mind.” Sanchia smiled tentatively. “But it really wasn’t necessary. I’m quite well now except for my hand.”

  “Don’t tell her that, Sanchia.” Marco strolled into the hall from the direction of the salon. “She delights in concocting foul-tasting remedies for all who will condescend to swallow them.”

  “It’s not foul-tasting,” Bianca protested. “I added honey to sweeten it. You aren’t kind, Marco.”

  Marco smiled at her. “You’re kind enough for both of us.” He turned to Sanchia. “You look well, Sanchia. I think you’ll soon have no need for remedies.”

  Marco’s beauty struck her anew as he came forward and bowed. Dressed in a bright blue velvet jerkin and blue-and-white partihose he lit up the small hall with elegance and grace. “Undoubtedly you don’t remember our last meeting in that cell at Solinari,” he said soberly. “However, it’s one I’ll never forget. You were very brave, Sanchia. I regret you were forced to suffer for our sake.”

  She shook her head. “I wasn’t brave. It’s not brave to endure what must be endured.” She smiled with an effort. “But I don’t like to think of that time. Did Rosa give you wine? I know nothing about fine wines, but Lorenzo brought a jug last evening and he says it is full of the very best.”

  Marco shook his head. “We just arrived and cannot stay. Bianca spent hours at the cathedral in the confessional.” He shot Bianca a mischievous glance. “She was weighed down by her mountain of sins and required much absolution.”

  Bianca made a face at him. “You would do well to go to confession yourself. You are puffed up with the sin of pride. Wasn’t it only yesterday you were boasting about the beauty of the painting you’re working on?”

  “It wasn’t pride in my skill but in my subject,” he said softly. “Bianca, the beautiful.”

  Bianca smiled radiantly at him. “You tease me. It is the painting that’s beautiful.” She tore her gaze away from him and turned to Sanchia. “You must see Marco’s work. He’s a splendid artist.”

  “I look forward to it,” Sanchia said absently, as she looked from Bianca to Marco. They were like two radiant children, filled with the joy of life and with each other. “Are you sure you won’t stay and have a goblet of wine?”

  Bianca shook her head. “I must return to the castle. It’s our day for visiting the sick.” She smiled gently. “Good day, Sanchia. Drink my remedy and you’ll soon be able to come to the castle and see Marco’s beautiful painting.”

  Marco hesitated. “Will you assist Bianca onto her mount, Lorenzo? I’d like a word with Sanchia.”

  “It would be my pleasure.” Lorenzo opened the door and bowed to Bianca. “If I give her service, perhaps she’ll be grateful enough to pray for the forgiveness of my sins.”

  “God forgives all,” Bianca said. “Go to the priest and have him intercede for you.”

  “I think God would listen more readily to the prayers of the beautiful Bianca. He is, after all, the originator of good taste.” Lorenzo’s fingers closed on Bianca’s elbow and urged her forward. “I’ll return shortly, Sanchia.”

  Marco turned to Sanchia as soon as the door closed behind them. “You’re not planning on staying at Mandara?”

  “No, I’ll leave as soon as possible.”

  Marco nodded, relieved. “That would be best. If I can help in any way, please call on me.”

  “I may ask for your help if it becomes necessary.”

  “You understand I wouldn’t want to deprive you of safety or contentment, but Bianca is very innocent.”

  “I understand.” She smiled warmly at him. “And I wouldn’t want to hurt her in any way. Believe me, Marco.”

  “I do believe you.” He bowed and crossed the few feet to the door. “Thank you, Sanchia.”

  A few minutes later Lorenzo entered the hall, closed the door and leaned back against it. “He asked you to go?”

  “No, only if I planned to do so.” She met his gaze. “He wants to protect her from hurt or shame.” She paused. “He loves her?”

  “Yes.”

  “They’re quite beautiful together.”

  “As exquisite as two dancing sunbeams.” He smiled. “And with a relationship just as substantial.”

  Sanchia glanced away. “Does she love him, too?”

  “Oh, yes, as much as she can love any man. She won’t admit it to herself, of course, for that would be a sin. She’s loved Marco since she was brought here to Manda
ra to marry Lion. They were drawn to each other at once and thrown together constantly as Lion was always away with his father fighting with their condotti.”

  “Lion knows?”

  “Since the first time he came home from battle and saw them together. They were then as they are now.”

  “Was he very angry?”

  “No. Saddened. He loves Marco.”

  She had seen the affection between the two brothers, but she couldn’t believe Lion would react without anger toward anyone who encroached on his property. “But Bianca is his wife. He would not—”

  “Psyche,” Lorenzo interrupted. “You saw it that first moment. Pure, childlike. How do you think Psyche would respond to Lion? Bianca is as unsuited to Lion as a woman can be unsuited to a man. If she hadn’t been the daughter of a great house she would have gone into a convent. Marco’s adoration suits her very well; he is her Cupid for his love is divine, pure.”

  “I don’t want to hear any more.” She moistened her lips with her tongue. “This isn’t my concern.”

  “You will hear more because Lion is not one of Bianca’s saints; he’s my friend and I’ve grown tired of seeing him give all and get nothing in return.” He went on bluntly, “Bianca is not only a Psyche; she’s a child who will never grow up. There’s something wrong … She was only fourteen when she was wed and at first Lion thought her childishness natural, but she’s never changed. She’s a child in a dream world playing at being a grown woman. He gave Marco endless opportunities to cuckold him during those first years and would have happily accepted Marco’s child as his heir.” He paused. “But then he realized that Bianca would never accept Marco as her lover. She doesn’t understand passion any more than a small child would, and Marco is so filled with tales of courtly love that he’d never try to teach her.” He shook his head. “Incredible. So Lion stays away at Pisa and permits them to play like children here at Mandara.”

  “Perhaps they’re all happy with the arrangement as it stands.”

  “I’m not happy with it, but I would have left it alone if Lady Caterina had not decided to alter the balance. She makes excuses to call Lion back to Mandara at every opportunity. She wants an heir for Mandara and she’s clever enough to know Marco will never cuckold Lion to provide her with one nor will the besotted idiot marry anyone else. Which leaves only Lion to be lured back to Bianca’s bed and his duty to Mandara.” He straightened away from the door. “I agree with Lady Caterina that it’s time the situation is resolved, but not in the fashion she’s chosen. Lion deserves to be free of this yoke.”