An intoxicated woman stumbled out of the tavern and latched onto Etienne. Not one to miss an opportunity, he slipped his arm around her considerable waist. “Without the message from Rene in hand, we know naught of the situation or if Alfonso’s camp is closing in. See that you return to the Valente home come morning.” Etienne escorted the harlot to his private quarters.
The reminder of the lost missive tightened the knot squeezing his intestines and dampened Dante’s mood even more. Bedamned if he didn’t feel the strain of his duplicity with the Valentes and Etienne. He began to think his relationship with the French king was a curse.
A man’s cry for help echoed through the barren street. Dante rushed toward the anguished sound. Etienne had yet to disappear into his temporary home and abandoned the harlot to join Dante. The two came upon a soldier kneeling over the lifeless body of another Frenchman. But what lay beside him turned Dante’s blood cold.
Alessandra’s dress lay haphazardly across her thighs, her bodice pulled down to expose her breasts. Her head was turned aside, and her silky blonde hair lay in disarray. Dante dropped to his knees and covered her with her cloak to hide the degradation of her position. She had put up a valiant fight. Bloody skin was embedded beneath her nails…from the dead soldier, no doubt. Pray she had not been raped.
“What happened here?” Etienne questioned sharply.
“I know not.” The young soldier, Beltane, rose to stand beside the captain. The concern etched into Etienne’s face relayed the fear of repercussions if this soldier had been murdered at the hands of a Neapolitan. “I came upon them as such. She killed Perrin.”
Perrin was one of the more seasoned soldiers in Etienne’s command. A man with more than twenty year’s service, Dante recalled, having listened to his exaggerated tales on many a night in the tavern.
“In what manner was his life taken?” Dante asked. Distrusting Beltane’s right to avenge his comrade’s death, he wouldn’t leave Alessandra’s side. He moved in closer.
“She clawed him,” came his gnarled reply.
The anger welling within Beltane prompted Dante to lift the girl into his arms. She weighed so little, even in all her expensive clothes and lined cloak. He glanced at Perrin then back to Alessandra. She couldn’t possibly hurt a man twice her size, especially Perrin who had the girth to match his tall tales.
“Claw marks cannot kill a man. Search further for another cause. Until you find one, do not blame the girl. It appears she was defending herself against him. The crime of rape will taint Perrin’s admirable service to his king. So think clearly before you accuse, else the reputation of a rapist will follow your friend in death.”
“But the harlot came into our district,” Beltane argued.
Dante’s jaw clenched tightly. He was well aware of the erratic ticking from the muscle along its length. He dropped his voice low. “She is not a harlot.”
Beltane’s glare didn’t rattle Dante, though the man was fortunate Etienne stepped in to calm his hostility.
“We will settle the matter come morning,” Etienne said to Beltane. “Help me carry Perrin into one of the empty rooms in my building. Should you mention this to anyone, I will personally run you through with my sword and permanently silence you. Do not take my threat lightly.”
The soldier clamped his mouth to avoid disgracing himself with insubordination. He’d not tell a soul about what he happened upon, but neither would he let it go. Dante must guard Alessandra more closely now. Should she turn out to be working for Alfonso, he’d be forced to turn her over to Etienne—not Beltane.
“Alors, Dante. Bring the girl to my quarters.”
“I think not, Etienne.”
The captain narrowed an authoritative look upon him. “If she is guilty of murder, I will see her in my custody.”
Only by the word of King Rene could Dante forsake Etienne’s command. The captain wouldn’t physically take advantage of Alessandra, but he had the authority to imprison her, and Dante was well aware of the treatment the condemned suffered in French prisons. He did have one advantage over Etienne, though—Queen Isabelle. Rene’s wife was fond of him, trusted him and enjoyed his company. Dante intended to make good on her offer to help him if he was in need.
Dante carried Alessandra across the street and into the first floor apartment Etienne called home. While the captain and Beltane brought Perrin’s body into the building, Dante made Alessandra comfortable upon a stack of blankets in the main room then rekindled the fire to keep her warm. Her hands felt as cold as ice, and her lips were tinged blue. After making certain she was covered up to her chin, he rocked to his feet and stared down at her.
His thoughts split off into many directions. How could a fragile woman work for a vile man such as King Alfonso? If that was not the case, then Dante couldn’t understand why Alessandra’s father didn’t find a husband for her long ago. What of their betrothal? Did she know? Perhaps Fabroni chose not to enlighten her, fearing she might run away to avoid marriage. Had she come to the French quarter searching for him to beg off from the betrothal?
“Dio.” He asked himself more questions than he had answers for.
He squatted and moved the hair away from her cheeks. He brushed the back of his fingers across her skin, relieved to find she was slowly warming. Upon closer inspection, he realized she’d been hit, possibly by Perrin’s fist. He closed one hand into a tight ball to control the anger crawling through his gut. Had Perrin abused her and lived, Dante knew he’d kill the man, his gentler senses be damned.
His heart weighed heavy, burdened by the fact she might have been molested. The helplessness closing around him was disturbing and strange. He hated the common practice of a man raising his hand to a woman. Any man who felt compelled to do so made him irate.
Etienne entered the room alone. Dante found it difficult to take his eyes off Alessandra, but he rose and forced his attention to the captain. “Where is Beltane?”
“He is gone. He’ll not harm the girl, if that is what concerns you.”
“It is.” More than Etienne could ever know. Indeed, more than Dante himself would ever understand.
“I cannot let her go until I investigate Perrin’s death.”
“I am aware of that. I will sit with her until she awakens.” Without waiting for permission, Dante pulled over a chair and eased onto it. “Mayhap we should send for the medico to examine her.” He had to know if Perrin violated her.
“You may fetch one of the women in the tavern.”
Dante turned sharply on the captain. “I’ll not allow any of them to touch her.”
Etienne frowned. “Mon ami, it is all I can offer you at the moment to ease your mind. Since you speak their language, it would serve you best to pick one else the one I choose may think I want her for different reasons.”
Curfew was set. The medico would not leave his home without the escort of Neapolitans and Dante to explain the cause for taking him away from his warm bed at this late hour. He nodded reluctantly and gazed down upon Alessandra’s serene countenance. Except for the dark coloring at her temple, and a few smudges on her cheeks, she appeared to be content in her deep slumber.
“I am leaving her in your safekeeping. I expect to find her as she is when I return,” Dante warned.
“And she will be.”
****
The captain waited near the front door, but Dante refused to leave Alessandra alone with the harlot. He was aware the women in the tavern not only lay with the soldiers but also with each other. Only after making her wash her hands in very hot water would he allow her to touch the girl. He regarded her closely, perhaps too guardedly for the harlot’s hands trembled as she spread Alessandra’s knees and intimately examined her. If he hadn’t a root of conscience, he would watch her hands. Alas, he’d not add to the girl’s humiliation. She would be mortified enough when she woke up to the reality of what Perrin did.
The harlot pulled Alessandra’s dress down and fixed the blanket over her. She washed her hands in a pail o
n a nearby table.
“Well?” Dante asked impatiently.
“She is untouched.”
His shoulders sagged as a huge sigh passed through his pursed lips. “Thanks be to God.”
“She is a fine piece,” the harlot commented. “Pure of skin, soft and— Hey, now, mind what you are doing,” she squawked when Dante grabbed her by the arm and pulled her away from Alessandra. He hurried her past a bemused Etienne.
“I thank you for your services,” Dante told her. “If you mention a word of what you saw here to anyone, I will see you banished from Naples for the rest of your life.” He dropped a coin in her hand and prodded her to the street.
Etienne followed him when he hurried back to Alessandra. “She did not give you the answer you sought?”
“She did.” Dante dragged his hands down his face and sat in the chair. “She is still a virgin.”
“When she awakens, I will question her. Until then, she may remain here.”
“Her cousins will search for her come morning.” What punishment would befall her then? Dante hung his head in thought. He’d not return her to the Valentes unless Fabroni assured him she’d not be harmed. She was foolish for sneaking out of their home again, but until he heard her admission, he’d not judge her careless act.
“I will retire to my bedchamber,” Etienne announced.
Before the captain left, Dante said, “I want to see Perrin’s body.”
“He is in the kitchen. No matter what you find, it will not stop my investigation.”
It mattered not. Dante had to know for himself—for Alessandra—if Perrin died by her hand. He snatched the candlestick from a low stool and carried it into the kitchen. Perrin lay on the table, his hands clasped over his burley chest. Dante perused him from his muddied boots to his head. Naught looked amiss. But then he felt something beneath his own boot and glanced down to find blood pooled on the floor.
He set the candlestick down and attempted to roll the man to his side. He gritted his teeth as he created a space between Perrin’s body and the table. As he felt the stickiness on Perrin’s back, Dante found the cause of death. He had been stabbed through the heart from behind.
Dante wiped the blood off his hands onto Perrin’s tunic. Alessandra didn’t kill him. The slice was as wide as a sword’s blade. If Perrin was trying to rape her, she couldn’t possibly pull his own sword on him, unless she ran him through the gut. Even then, she was simply too petite to wield the awkward weapon.
Dante returned to the girl. He kneeled and smoothed the blanket over her. A healthier color returned to her cheeks and lips. He rested back on his heels and stared at her for quite some time. Her eyelids twitched and she stirred but, apparently, she wasn’t ready to awaken. With a tired sigh, he started to stand. Her hand came loose from the blanket and fell outward. Her fingers uncurled, exposing the rolled missive he had lost.
“Gesu, no.” Dante did not want to believe she was part of the Valente’s scheme to overthrow Rene. The girl cleverly hid her purpose for coming to Naples. His gut twisted. How had he been so wrong?
Chapter Nine
The pain was akin to naught she’d ever suffered in her life. A steady thud hammered her temples while a thick fog surrounded the rest of her head. Nearby, popping flames spread warmth over her, and Alessa turned her face to the heat.
She lifted a hand to the ache in her head and wondered if the pain might attack any other part of her as well. She moved her legs, but they felt heavy and useless. What in God’s name had befallen her?
Alessa gradually pried her eyelids upward. The hearth was the size of a water barrel and crudely built. She was surprised it gave off any heat at all.
“Where am I?” she muttered and startled when a man answered.
“You are safe, Alessandra.”
The tutor?
She moved her head in the direction of his voice. Her vision blurry, she stared hard at the figure sitting in a chair within reach from where she lay.
“From what am I safe?” she managed to ask through the dry patches in her throat.
“You do not remember?”
Remember what? she would have countered, but she decided to hold onto her precious breath.
The tutor shifted, leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “You were accosted last night.”
“Accosted?” The single word struck fear in her soul. Alessa fought the haze in her head to bring back the night. Something blocked her memory. “Was I—”
“You are intact,” he replied curtly.
Mortified, she shifted her gaze to the fire. Shame engulfed her. She sensed Signor Santangelo knew much more about last night than he revealed. He assured her she was not raped. Thankfully she held on to her virginity.
She ran her tongue over her dry lips, but there wasn’t any moisture in her mouth to help them. “Where am I?” She lifted up to her elbows. “Almighty,” she croaked and lay down gingerly, cradling her head between her hands.
“You are in the French camp.”
Dio, I cannot be! “Know you how I came to be here?”
He did not respond.
She looked at the tutor and at last her vision cleared. “Signor Santangelo?”
Grim lines bracketed his mouth. It was apparent he didn’t want to speak about it. Alessa feared what she could not recall, yet she couldn’t begin to think what was more horrifying than a man molesting her.
“If I was not raped, what then?”
“You were found in an alley with a French soldier. He was dead and you were—” His hands balled into white-knuckled fists.
Leery, she asked, “I was what?”
“You were unconscious, and your clothes were torn and bloodied.”
“Mother of God!” Alessa threw back the blanket and inspected her clothes. Her blood-stained bodice had been hastily repaired to cover her breasts. She gaped up at the tutor. “How—”
“I have no answers for you, Alessandra. I have told you all I know.”
Why then did she sense he held in more than what he’d said? “How know you I am…I was not…raped?” She shuddered at the thought of a man taking her against her will.
“A woman examined you.”
Wariness abounded. The tutor noticed.
“A harlot from the tavern,” he said gruffly.
Another shudder wracked her body. She had seen harlots aplenty and knew a little about how they lived and survived. Pray the one who cared for her was not filthy or diseased. “Why did no one summon a medico?”
The tutor bounded to his feet. She hated how he was forced to look down upon her, as if she were a pittance in the realm of a giant. “More is the question of why you were in the French quarter after dark.”
The truth, she decided, would assist her credibility. After all, she had been warned aplenty about the dangers of Naples at night. “I came in search of you.”
His dark brows rose high.
Alessa lifted a hand to her bodice where she hid the missive. Her eyes rounded and her mouth opened in silent exclamation as she searched frantically for the document.
“Are you looking for this?” The rolled paper sat in the tutor’s broad, open palm.
Alessa struggled to calm her trepidation. “You must know I did not take it purposely.” When he glowered down at her, she knew exactly what he was thinking. “It happened the night you rode me to my cousins’ home. I feared you would drop me from your horse, so I reached for anything to save me. I cannot explain how I came away with the missive. Truth be told, I could not read any of it.”
“Any of it? But you know who it is from.”
“Sì,” she whispered, but he was already aware of her answer. She must find a way to redeem herself. “No one else has laid eyes upon it. I kept it hidden until I could find you and return it.”
“Why would you do so?”
“Be-because it is not mine.”
Dante mulled over her response. He was about to question her further, but Etienne walked into the
room.
“Ah, the creature is awake,” the captain said.
Dante saw through the false smile. Etienne was unhappy by what he had uncovered about Perrin’s death. Alessandra didn’t kill him, but she was the only person found with him. What better motive would anyone have than a woman fearing she’d be raped?
“She does not remember last night,” Dante revealed.
“Are you certain she is not feigning—”
“She is not. Forgetfulness is not uncommon after a head injury, I think. I am not a medico, but I believe she is truthful about not recalling the details of the night past.”
The captain remained skeptical. “So say you, but she will remain here until I am satisfied Perrin did not die by her hand.” He pivoted sharply. His footfalls tapped over the tile, ceasing only after he left through the street door.
“What say he?” Alessandra asked.
“He does not believe you are innocent.”
“But I am,” she cried, lifting to her knees. Her eyes beseeched him. Her features implored his compassion. She stopped short of begging him to believe she was indeed innocent of killing Perrin.
Dante forced himself to stand his ground and tightened every muscle in his body to keep him rooted to the floor. He’d not go to her and comfort the anguish burdening her. He’d get answers first before he determined if she was out last night on one of her foolish ventures or if she was sent to the French camp by her cousins. He had no doubt she was guiltless of murdering Perrin. Other than that, he couldn’t be sure any longer.
When he held his tongue, hope drained from her face. She lay down on her side in defeat. Facing the fire, she curled her knees to her chest. Dante’s heart tugged at the child-like sight. She nestled her hands at her breasts. He expected her to defend herself with endless tears and lies. He didn’t know what to make of her silence.
He paced over to the window overlooking the street. Soldiers were up and about. None, he realized, were aware of Perrin’s death, else they’d be pounding at the door to see the woman who possessed the mettle to kill one of their own.
After a while, he turned away and divided his attention between Alessandra and the fire. How would she react if she learned he’d been the one to repair her bodice? He had rummaged around until he found needle and thread. At first he thought his only obstacle would be figuring out how to sew the rent bodice. Until he pulled the blanket back and saw her exposed breasts. Awkwardly, he’d held the fabric together and pierced it with the needle. He had pricked his fingers with each stab. As hard as he’d tried, the bodice had been impossible to sew without touching her flesh.
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