Lucianna

by Bertrice Small

  “An error he undoubtedly came to regret,” the earl noted dryly.

  “Once he was incapacitated, I realized how easy it would be for me to escape. The rest you know.”

  “We are fortunate that stupid chit did not send a skilled killer,” Robert Minton said. “I am angry the wench would be so presumptuous as to believe I would have her.”

  “I am certain she convinced herself that I stole you away in some wicked and unfair manner,” Lucianna said. “While it allowed her to justify her own actions, she will now learn otherwise.” She shivered. “I am still chilled. Though it be June, England has not the warmth of Florence.” Then she paused, realizing he was actually home, and he had been gone but a few days. “Is the battle over, my lord?” she asked her husband. She hoped so.

  “Over, and won,” he assured her, smiling. “Henry Tudor’s throne is safe. The remaining Yorkists are routed, pardoned, or fled. We are invited to court when we would come,” he told her, wondering what she would answer.

  “First we must have a son or two,” Lucianna responded. “Then I will consider visiting the court. Your friendship with the king should be maintained. Who knows how it might benefit our children one day.”

  “Ah,” he said with a smile, “now you are beginning to think like a wife and a mother.”

  “I hope I will not turn into my own mother,” she fretted.

  He laughed aloud. “Orianna simply wants what she perceives as best for her children. All women do, amore mia. It is a wise woman’s way to want success for her sons, and advantageous marriages for her daughters,” he said, excusing his meddling mother-in-law.

  “You are able to be so generous of her nature since she is not here,” Lucianna reminded him. “Your heart would not be so generous if you had to deal with her every day, as my sisters and I did. Now she has only Serena left to match. I do not know what she will do when she has her youngest safely settled. Mayhap she will come to England.”

  “She will be most welcome,” Robert Minton said.

  “Hah! You say it because you think it an impossibility, my lord.”

  He laughed. “You are coming to know me too well, amore mia. And you are correct. I doubt your formidable mother will ever come to England. Travel would discommode Orianna too greatly. We are safe, and you are mine alone.” He drew her into his arms and began to give her slow, deep kisses. “Mine!”

  After a minute or two of such enjoyment, Lucianna said softly, “I think, my lord, that this conversation is better continued upstairs in our bedchamber, don’t you?”

  With a small smile he nodded in agreement, and hand in hand they ascended upstairs. Strangely, their body servants had conveniently disappeared. He bolted the door behind them, and by the time he had turned about, she was pulling off her garments. He joined her, drawing his own off quickly.

  “We both stink of sweat and horses,” Lucianna remarked, wrinkling her nose, “yet I have no desire to bathe now.”

  “Nor do I,” he agreed as together they reached the bed.

  “Mali can refresh the sheets on the morrow,” she said.

  “Enough housewifery, madame,” he teasingly scolded her. “This is not the time for it.” Then drawing her back into his arms, he began to kiss her once again with great passion. “What if I had lost you, amore mia? What if that stupid little bitch had sent someone more competent to do her wicked bidding? I could have lost you!”

  “But she did not, and you did not, my own Roberto!” Lucianna reassured him. “I am here, and in your arms where I belong. I will never leave you willingly. Never!”

  Oh yes! She was in his arms, and her naked body pressed tightly against his naked body. Was there a better feeling in all of the world than two lovers wrapped in each other’s arms? Lucianna reveled in both the hard and soft sensation of it while his kisses wreaked havoc with her senses. Passion between two lovers had so much to offer.

  When he finally released her lips, they were bruised with the sweetness. His hands began to explore her lush body, slowly slipping over the tempting curves of hip and breast. Unable to resist, even in his eagerness to join with her, he kissed, licked, and then suckled upon her nipples. The shiver that rocked her when he did always set his senses even more afire.

  Until they had made love, Lucianna had never imagined a man’s mouth upon her breasts. She had always believed them for nursing her children only. But when his mouth drew upon her, it but increased her desire for him even more, and she discovered herself eager for it. Her hands caressed the nape of his neck. Her fingers wound their way through his dark hair, and her lower body always responded with deep need for more than his lips on her sensitive flesh.

  Lucianna sighed as he entered her, wrapping her legs about his torso as she eagerly awaited the final rhythm of their shared need. He did not disappoint, and she was soon dizzy with indescribable passion that filled her. She soared with delight, and she heard herself begging him not to cease. He obliged her until finally, with a gasp, the satisfied need burst for them both, his strong cock releasing its tribute.

  It was at that very moment Lucianna knew in her heart that they had created a child. She cried out happily, but it was knowledge she would keep to herself for now. It was always possible she could be wrong, but her woman’s intuition told her otherwise.

  “Jesú, I love you!” he groaned as he rolled off her, drawing her into the shelter of his arms.

  “I love you more,” she teased, gently content and happy in her secret. It would be a son.

  The next morning, the earl sent a man to learn where the king’s mother was residing now that it was summer. He knew she would not be in London. His man returned after ten days to say the Lady Margaret was residing near Cambridge. Her interest in the university was great, and the earl knew she planned to found and endow a new college there. Now that her son was safely enthroned, her interests had turned to learning, for she was a most scholarly woman and a supporter of the arts.

  “It will be a long ride of several days,” the earl told his wife. “We must travel cross-country. Are you certain that you would come?”

  “I should come if I had to crawl all the way myself,” Lucianna said. “I want to see the look on that little bitch’s face when she realizes I am still quite alive. How dare she attempt to assassinate me!”

  He grinned at her outburst. In her heart, Lucianna would always be a Florentine, and her mother’s daughter. Her need for revenge must be met, or she would know no peace. “We leave on the morrow,” he told her. “No Balia. No Mali. Just you, me, and our men-at-arms.”

  She did not protest. “I will be ready at first light,” she agreed.

  The journey was long, but at least the summer weather made it easier than if this had been winter. Lucianna, however, would have gone no matter the time of year. The more she considered it, the angrier she became, realizing that this silly girl had tried to murder her and had no real assurance of ever gaining Robert Minton as her husband. She considered what Lorenzo di Medici would have done, had done, to such an assassin, and wished she possessed such power.

  They managed their arrival in Cambridge in midmorning on a mid-July day. The earl sent to request an urgent audience with Lady Margaret, and was granted one that same day. There had been time to exchange their riding clothing for more suitable garments with which to meet the king’s mother.

  Ushered into her presence, Robert Minton bowed while his wife curtsied. He waited for her to speak, first noting that not all of her ladies were with her at this moment, and among the missing was Cat Talcott.

  “It must be something very important, Rob, that you and your wife would travel to see me so urgently,” Lady Margaret said. “I am told you were at Stoke with my son. I thank you for your continued loyalty to the king.”

  “I am grateful for the king’s friendship, madame, as I am for yours,” the earl began. “Therefore, it saddens me to tell y
ou that one of your ladies has behaved in a most inappropriate and dangerous manner towards my family, towards my wife.”

  Lady Margaret’s face became grave. “Say on, my lord.”

  “I have learned that the plot involving my brother-in-law was devised by a lady who believed that if she could discredit the Pietro d’Angelo family, I would repudiate my wife and be free to marry another, for this lady had hopes of being my countess, although I knew it not. When this misadventure failed, she sent her cousin to murder my wife, madame, and only his incompetence saved Lucianna.”

  Now Lady Margaret’s usually calm demeanor showed anger. “Who is this woman, Rob? Who among my ladies would dare such a dreadful thing?”

  “It is Catherine Talcott, madame,” he answered.

  When Lady Margaret saw two of her women nod at each other, she snapped at them, “What do you know of this?”

  “My lady, we did not know the extent to which Cat would go to achieve her ends,” one said, speaking for them all. “Had we been privy to such perfidy, we would have told you.”

  “What on earth ever made that wench believe she might be your wife?” Lady Margaret wondered aloud.

  “You considered it once, I am told,” the earl answered her, and the lady who was closest to the dowager queen nodded.

  “You did, my lady,” she said, “and from that moment on, all the wench could talk about was how she would be your countess one day. The other girls mocked her when it was learned you had wed your wife, and she was furious. I certainly never believed she would attempt to rid you of your wife, my lord. Never have I known such boldness.”

  Lady Margaret shook her head. “She had to have been listening at doors to have heard such a conversation,” she said. “I know the maids will in order to learn secrets, yet as I never mentioned it to her, she was foolish to assume my consideration meant it would be done.” She shook her head again, then said, “Someone fetch the wench to me. She is in the garden with the others. I will send her home, of course, with instructions to her father to see her married off as quickly as possible. You wish to confront her with the knowledge of her actions, my lord?”

  “I do,” the earl replied.

  Lady Margaret looked at Lucianna, who had been silent all this time. “And you, madame? I suspect you know your presence will frighten the girl?”

  A small arch smile touched Lucianna’s lips. “I do, madame,” she responded. “It is my nature to seek revenge of some sort.”

  “Of course,” Lady Margaret answered, and they waited now in silence for the several minutes it took for Catherine Talcott to be fetched from the house’s gardens.

  She came, smiling to be called alone into her mistress’s presence, for she believed it meant her importance was greater than that of the others. But seeing the Earl and the Countess of Lisle, she grew pale, forgetting even to curtsy to the king’s mother as she looked to her.

  Lady Margaret did not mince words. “How dare you!” she said to the girl. “How dare you execute plots and attempt the murder of an innocent woman? Do not bother to protest, for your cousin was caught, and he told all to the earl.”

  And it was then Lucianna, unable to contain herself any longer, said, “Cagna! Volpe femina! You dared? If this were Florence, I should rip your deceitful heart from your chest myself! I would scratch your eyes out so you would never cast them upon another woman’s man! Thank the blessed Mother this is England, for it is your mistress who will pronounce your judgment.” Then she slapped Catherine Talcott across her face as hard as she could before stepping back next to her husband.

  “Your father will be told of this, mistress,” the king’s mother said. “You will depart my household today. I am advising him to marry you off as quickly as possible. You will never be welcomed at court again. You have disgraced yourself, but worse, you have brought shame upon my household. I will not forgive you.” Lady Margaret turned to one of the older women. “Take her from my sight, and see it is done.”

  “Yes, madame.”

  Catherine Talcott was weeping now. “I only sought to be your wife,” she said to Robert Minton.

  “I have a wife,” he told her coldly, and turned to take Lucianna’s hand up in his to kiss.

  With a sob, the girl fled the chamber.

  “You will stay and have dinner,” Lady Margaret said. It was not an invitation.

  “We are honored, madame,” the earl replied.

  While Lucianna would have preferred the girl be punished more severely, she knew the matter was concluded to Lady Margaret’s satisfaction, and she must be content with it.

  They did not linger in Cambridge, beginning their return journey the following day. Much of the spring and the summer had already been wasted in service to others. Now home at Wye Court, they gratefully settled into their country life. Within the month, Lucianna was certain, as was Balia, that she was with child. The earl was delighted. The babe would come in the spring.

  The harvest would be enough to sustain them through the winter. From London, Baram Kira reported that the shop of the Florentine silk merchants was thriving. England seemed to have settled into peace at last. Luca had reached Florence, her mother wrote. They were seeking a suitable wife for him. Serena, her youngest sister, was suddenly behaving in a less than cooperative fashion.

  Lucianna laughed, and when her husband asked why, she showed him her mother’s remark about her youngest sister. “I don’t know why she thought Serena would be any easier than the others were.”

  “You married Alfredo Allibatore without question,” he noted.

  “There was no other choice for me,” Lucianna replied. “With business being good again, Serena has an excellent dower to tempt an excellent suitor. Now that he has learned from the rest of us, I do not believe our father would let her be forced into a union she didn’t want. We will not know until the deed is done.” Lucianna rubbed her belly, which seemed to swell more each day. The autumn deepened, and then one day in early December an unfamiliar cart rumbled up to Wye Court.

  Fflam, now the house’s majordomo, stepped out to inquire of the driver, “What business have you here at Wye Court?”

  “This the home of the Earl of Lisle?” the man asked.

  “It is,” Fflam answered.

  “This wench says she has family here,” the driver replied, indicating a girl by his side. “Well, get out, lass. You’re here.”

  The girl struggled down from the cart.

  “She promised me coin, for I have brought her all the way from Hereford,” the driver told Fflam.

  Fflam looked dubious. “Who are you?” he demanded of the girl. “Why should I pay this man for your transport?”

  She told him, and, looking closely at her, he did not argue, but drew some silver from his purse and gave the pieces to the driver. “Come along then, lady,” he said, leading her into the house. “Balia!” he shouted. “Balia!”

  Lucianna’s tiring woman hurried down the stairs and, seeing Fflam’s companion, gasped with shock. “Mistress Serena!” she cried.

  “Take me to my sister,” Serena Pietro d’Angelo said. “And a bath, Balia. I have been traveling for days.”

  Balia did not argue, but hurried the girl to Lucianna’s apartments, where she knew her mistress was sitting with Mali, sewing for her expected child. “My lady! My lady!” she managed to say before Serena pushed past her and flung herself at her sister’s feet.

  “I ran away!” Serena Pietro d’Angelo said. “I will not be married to some French count who wants nothing more than my dower and to save his vile reputation,” she declared dramatically.

  Lucianna burst out laughing. She could but imagine her mother’s chagrin. Poor Orianna. This last of her daughters was obviously proving more difficult than all the other three had. Well, they had decided their own futures in the end. Why shouldn’t Serena? “Welcome to Wye Court, Sister,” she sai
d, with a smile.

  Epilogue

  The Countess of Lisle gave her husband his first son in April, with her husband and youngest sister by her side. There were several other children—three sons and two daughters—who followed over the years. Together, they lived a long and happy life.

  Henry Tudor, known as King Henry VII, ruled in peace until his death in 1509. Lady Margaret died in the same year. The king was succeeded not by his firstborn son, Arthur, who died at sixteen, but by his second son, Henry VIII. The Tudor dynasty ended in 1603 with the death of Henry VII’s granddaughter, Elizabeth I. It had lasted but one hundred and eighteen years.

  The Silk Merchant’s Daughters series continues

  with the story of the youngest daughter

  Serena

  Coming in April 2014 from New American Library

  About the Author

  Bertrice Small is the New York Times bestselling author of fifty-five novels and four novellas, as well as the recipient of numerous awards, including a Lifetime Achievement Award from Romantic Times. She lives on the North Fork of eastern Long Island in Southold, which was founded in 1640 and is the oldest English-speaking town in the state of New York. Now widowed, she is the mother of a son, Thomas, and grandmother to a tribe of wonderful grandchildren. Longtime readers will be saddened to learn of the passing of Finnegan, her long-haired black kitty. Sylvester, her eight-year-old black-and-white bed cat, has been joined by a white kitten with black markings who lives up to her name, Delilah. Readers can contact the author at www.bertricesmall.com, bertricesmall@hotmail.com, or P.O. Box 765, Southold, NY 11971.