Dante's Flame

by Jannine Corti-Petska

  Or was he?

  Could he be in arrears and owned naught but this castle? She had yet to see servants shuttle back and forth. Faith, she had seen no life at all, save for a dog chasing a small animal of some sort in the front yard.

  Footfalls echoed, interrupting her dismal thoughts. Dante’s long-legged strides carried him across the room with grace and self-reliance. For the first time since they met, Alessa realized how regally he comported himself. Perhaps it came with his extensive education, making him stand as tall and confidant as a nobleman. Indeed, his bearing far exceeded her expectations for she knew naught about her new husband other than his family had roots in Naples.

  His clothes were simple but elegant. He wore tall boots over navy hose and a doublet striped in navy, gray and burgundy. The dagger at his hip piqued her ever-present curiosity. Unlike the French captain, Dante didn’t wear a sword. But she knew better than to deem him a simpleton or a man without a demon to conquer. She had seen firsthand the fires of hell burn hot in his eyes when he was angered. She’d try her best not to test his ill-tempered side.

  “I fear your trunks will not arrive until later in the day,” he said. “I was given little time to prepare for this day. But I have sent Enea with a wagon to fetch them.”

  “Enea?”

  “He works the grounds.”

  One man? Did Enea cook and tend to castle matters as well?

  “I will show you to your bedchamber.”

  He did not say our bedchamber. Perhaps he didn’t intend to share his bed with her. While not particularly overjoyed to lie with a man she hardly knew, she imagined lying with Dante would rouse her feminine senses. For certain, just the sight of him encouraged her creative mind. A man as virile as he pillaging her virginal body….

  Lord have mercy. Every inch of her sweltered as if she stood naked in the center of a fire ring. In her uncontested excitement, she felt the stirring of a blush unfold up her cheeks.

  “Alessandra?”

  Shaking her head to diminish the carnal visions running rampant, she noticed the puzzled look on her husband’s face. “My mind strayed.”

  “So it seems.” His voice softened. “Were it not for your wanderings, I would have given you a wedding you will never forget for the rest of your life. Alas, there was no time to prepare.”

  Grateful for his insight, she wondered if he truly meant every word. Perhaps she was wrong to assume he might be poor. The wedding lacked the grandeur Alessa had dreamed about since she was old enough to understand. She had told her father she wanted an affair as grand and festive as her cousin Bianca’s, filled with tents and endless food and wine, the spectacle of knights in a friendly jousting competition. A rushed ceremony just after dawn while her cousins stood watch was hardly acceptable.

  What did it matter now? Until her father responded to Fabroni’s message, she’d not dwell on what passed. She had more important things to consider.

  Alessa started for the wide stone steps along the far wall. “I am ready to go upstairs now.”

  He made an odd face of misunderstanding.

  “You offered to show me my bedchamber, did you not?” Too late she realized the implication in her statement. It sounded as if she was ready for him to partake of his husbandly rights. She blushed brighter. “I meant—”

  “Ease your mind, Alessandra. I’ll not consummate our marriage the instant we reach the top of the stairs.” He closed the gap between them and bent to whisper beside her ear. “You have naught to fear from me. I will lie with you only when you are ready.”

  A delicious shiver tingled down her back. “Truth be told, I am not fearful of you.”

  He straightened. “Good. Then your mother has explained a wife’s role in marriage?”

  “No,” she murmured, lightheaded from his nearness.

  He circled her waist with his arm, stretching her up his body. The contact jolted her sensitive nerves. When the glint in his eyes turned ravenous and he captured her lips, she fell victim to his ardor.

  The air she breathed filled with the warm, spicy scent of her husband. Her legs weakened at the same instant he traced the seam of her lips with his tongue. His expertise and exploration conspired to attack the inhibitions she retained. If he continued teasing her senses, she might easily forget she awaited her father to have the marriage annulled.

  Thankfully, he ended the kiss. Her gaze fell on the moisture across his lips. Without thinking, she licked it away. He groaned and gently pushed her back.

  “Do not tease, Alessandra. You have worked me into a state I fear I cannot control. Yet I’ll not give you what your body craves solely because of a lost moment of weakness. When I lie with you, it will be when you truly want me.”

  Stunned, she stared at his retreating back. Long after he disappeared into the solar, she still hadn’t moved. His beguiling kiss nearly collapsed her resolve, and she might have made the biggest mistake of her life. Not only because she wasn’t in love with Dante, but also because she was not clear about his reason for agreeing to their hasty marriage.

  A lanky woman with a fretful mien hurried from the solar. As she neared, Alessa noticed the woman couldn’t have been much older than she.

  “My lady,” she greeted, her head bowed.

  “Your pardon, but I am not your lady. You may call me Alessa.”

  “Sì, my lady.” Her brown eyes widened. “Forgive me.”

  “Do not apologize for that which you have not done. Who are you?”

  “I am Agata. I will tend to you, my la—” She dipped her head meekly and corrected herself. “Signora Santangelo.”

  Relieved to know she’d not be the only female in her husband’s castle, Alessa smiled. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Agata. Know you which chamber will be mine?”

  “Sì, signora.” She glanced around. “Have you no belongings?”

  “They will arrive later.”

  “Follow me then, signora.”

  ****

  Dante paced the kitchen from one end to the other, retracing the same path. The muscles across his shoulders pulled as taut as an archer’s bow. His gut was on fire and felt as if a wild boar had rammed him. His entire body suffered his frustration. What began as a marriage of convenience could have turned into something more.

  “Idiot.” Why the devil did he tell Alessandra he’d lie with her only when she was ready when he didn’t intend to lie with her at all?

  He placed his palms against the cool wall, leaned his weight into them and hung his head. Perhaps he should abort his original plan. Lying in the same room with his wife might prove a vital mistake in the scheme of his overall goal. If he broke down and bedded her, no annulment would be forthcoming.

  But then, who better to keep an eye on the wench than he? Sleeping in the same room was a necessity, not only to her safety, but also to his cause. Gaining her trust and getting her to talk about her cousins was by far most important.

  He pushed away from the wall and returned to pacing. Just how long could he keep up the pretense of husband without collecting a husband’s right to his wife’s body? If only Alessandra was not a comely wench. He kicked out a bench and sat heavily upon it. But he couldn’t sit for long. Anxious beyond reason, he jumped up as if he’d been inundated by a swarm of biting insects.

  “Bedamned!” He startled Agata when she entered the kitchen.

  She bowed her head. “My lord.”

  “She is settled?”

  “Sì, my lord.”

  “Is she resting?”

  “No, my lord. She said she was going for a walk.”

  Dante’s insides twisted painfully. Alessandra never went for a mere walk. She explored, trespassed where she shouldn’t, and trouble was never far behind.

  He rushed from the kitchen, his boots barely touching the floor as he flew through the solar and great hall. Once he stepped outside, he flinched against the sunlight. But it wasn’t long before he found her, heading for the stable. Dante cursed his miserable situation.
It wouldn’t surprise him if his hair turned white before her father arrived to annul their marriage.

  ****

  Without her journal to write in, Alessa had too much time to think. She didn’t particularly like the plethora of thoughts filling her head, so she decided not to await Dante to show her around. If she familiarized herself with the castle and grounds, perhaps she might feel as if this was her home, too.

  Upon entering the stable, she found the horse Dante normally rode to the city and the two that had pulled the carriage. Her husband practiced lean measures. No church. No magnificent gardens or water fountains. No training ground where he practiced swordplay. And only a meager lot of two servants.

  Alessa frowned as she scooped up a handful of hay and held it out to Dante’s horse. His huge brown eyes greeted her. He sniffed the hay before taking it, turning her palm slimy.

  “Eeuu.” Alessa searched for something to wipe her hands on.

  “Use your skirt,” Dante said from the stable entrance where he casually leaned his shoulder against the wall.

  “And heap more work upon Agata?”

  “She is rewarded well for her service to me.”

  Horrified, she lost her ability to speak.

  “Govern your imagination, Alessandra. Agata does naught but woman’s work. Anything more is reserved for my wife.”

  “Then you do not intend to retain a mistress?”

  An irresistible, charming grin surfaced, lighting his eyes. In a quick it was gone, replaced with a chastising frown. He straightened away from the wall and walked toward his horse. His taut movements as he saddled the animal bit at Alessa’s inquisitive nature. What caused his rapid turn in moods? Had he not given thought to his mistress, if indeed he retained one? Most husbands did.

  She set a hand to his arm to still him. He jerked away, turning her curiosity to confusion. “I would ask that you not seek out a mistress. Should you lie with any other woman, I’ll not welcome you in my bed.”

  He shot her a scathing smile. “Should I decide to lie with you, you cannot stop me. And whether or not I choose to keep a mistress, you are my wife.” He stepped closer, towering over her. “Remember you this…a wife must perform her duties in her husband’s home else she is required to be beaten.”

  “You would never lay a hand on me.” She was positive he was not that sort of man.

  He mounted, throwing down a grim warning. “Do not test me, Alessandra.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Dante tossed back another drink and slammed the tankard on the table. He swiped his forearm across his mouth then gestured to Gloria for a refill. He fixed his sight on the stains spread across the table top, paying no mind when the matronly woman set a brimming tankard down. Unlike the other women who frequented the tavern, Gloria didn’t seek favors from the soldiers. Instead, she was happiest nurturing many of the young men. The language barrier did not exist, for Gloria’s mothering nature spoke clearly.

  He looked up into her dark brown eyes. They had seen much in their more than fifty years. He had met her just before his seventh year when she and her husband took over the running of the tavern. The times he’d accompanied his father there, she always had a sweet or a pocket full of nutmeats for him.

  “Do you need anything more, Dante?”

  He shook his head. He had missed her these many months past. An ailment kept her bedridden, but now she was back and order would once again take hold in the tavern. She’d not allow the young whelps to create havoc.

  “What troubles you, boy?”

  He smiled fondly. In her eyes, he was still that boy she’d known twenty-one years past. “I am in a mood. That is all.”

  Her wrinkled, age-spotted hand rested on his shoulder. “Do not carry all the weight upon your shoulders, Dante. I am here if you need an ear.”

  He nodded. The instant she walked away, he slipped back into brooding. The only weight he carried was his guilty conscience. His staunch loyalty to Rene stepped on his respect. Alessandra didn’t deserve his duplicity. Whether or not she was partial to the Spanish, he had no right using her as he was. Thankfully his mother lived far away in France else he’d not live down his deception. She had never tolerated a disrespectful man, more so when the man was her son.

  Sensing he was not alone, Dante frowned. In his usual dark corner, he preferred anonymity. Why the devil couldn’t anyone understand that?

  “You are drinking early this morn.” Etienne pulled out a chair and sat. “Gloria! A drink, madame.”

  Dante grumbled beneath his breath. The Frenchman intended to sit for a while.

  “A bad night, mon ami?”

  “Do not concern yourself.”

  “Who summoned you at dawn?”

  “Do you never sleep?” Dante snapped.

  Etienne grinned. “A fair amount.” Gloria handed down a tankard, and he watched her when she paused to reprimand two soldiers about to come to fists. “My men have taken a liking to her.”

  Dante grunted. He cared not about Etienne and his hard-drinking, whoring men. With his life in turmoil, he couldn’t bring himself to care about anything, except his impetuous wife. If only he had thought through his plan more carefully, he’d not be sitting here, lost in ale, his loins on fire, and his mind boggled by the slight woman who entered his life under false pretenses. He pressed his hand to the pounding at his temple. A headache plagued him, a malady he seldom suffered.

  “How many tankards have you drunk?” Etienne asked.

  “Think you I am counting?” He cleared the gruffness from his voice. “Have you a reason for joining me?”

  Etienne studied him a moment before he answered. “Queen Isabelle thinks your future wife is a suitable match for you.”

  “So says she.” The queen was wrong.

  “She desires to attend your wedding.”

  Dante closed his eyes in pain. His head pounded with more force now.

  “Dante?”

  “Bedamned, man!” He jerked forward in his chair. “We were married this morn.”

  Shock, followed by another grin, spread Etienne’s lips wide. “Ah, that explains your rush to leave your quarters.”

  “I assure you, it was not by my choice.” He frowned in annoyance and leaned back in his chair. “A messenger summoned me to the church, claiming Alessandra was in trouble. For my concern, I gained a wife.” He griped openly, the effects from the ale he had consumed toying with his mind.

  “You were to be married soon enough,” Etienne pointed out.

  “As planned. But I was not ready to take home a wife just yet.” He’d not tell the captain he hadn’t planned to bed the girl. He was grateful when Etienne changed the subject.

  “I have learned more about Perrin’s death.”

  “What more is there to learn?”

  Etienne lowered his voice. “A man was seen running from the alley.”

  “Think you this mystery man was after Perrin?”

  “I cannot say. But I do believe it has something to do with the girl.” Etienne cleared his throat. “My pardon—your wife.”

  Dante cast aside the Frenchman’s amusement. “Can your witness be trusted?”

  Etienne nodded.

  Alessandra gained pleasure from her adventures, but she did naught to anger anyone to the point of harming her. Or had rape been on the man’s mind? Dante lowered his hand beneath the table. He curled and uncurled his fingers to stay his agitation.

  “Know you where your wife is?”

  “At my castle.”

  “So she is.”

  The glint in Etienne’s eyes bode ill. What was he not telling? Then he nodded at the entrance. Dante gnashed his teeth at what he saw. “What the devil—?”

  Alessandra sauntered into the tavern as if she belonged there. She wasn’t lost, nor did she appear distressed. As she scanned the tables, she ignored the comments from the soldiers. Dante couldn’t, though. Their lascivious remarks thrust a newly sharpened blade into his intestines. He was thankful s
he didn’t understand French.

  Using every ounce of his will, he remained seated. When a soldier’s hand lashed out, he tensed and kept rooted to his chair. Alessandra jumped out of the man’s reach and gave him a stern, castigating look.

  “Should you not make yourself known?” Etienne asked.

  “Mayhap my silence will teach her a lesson I cannot with words.” Still, he watched shrewdly from his dark corner. If any of the soldiers succeeded and grabbed her, Dante feared he’d kill the man.

  “Almighty!” she squawked loudly. “Have none of you seen a women before?”

  The soldiers laughed boisterously. One sauntered up to her, but she stared him down.

  “Dante, I would not see another of my men lose his life solely because you mean to teach your new wife a lesson.” Etienne barked a sharp command, and every soldier in the room froze.

  Alessandra turned a full circle, and her jaw dropped in apparent amazement. “Lord, you are all a brave lot.”

  Dante hid a grin, even as he refused to find anything she did or said amusing. She searched out the authoritative voice. When she saw it belonged to the captain, she sighed with relief. As she approached, she held her head high, her willfulness abundant in that single gesture.

  “Capitano,” she greeted. “Have you seen—”

  Dante came out of obscurity and leaned forward. The candlelight from a nearby sconce revealed what he hoped was an uncompromising expression.

  “There you are,” she said airily, as if naught improper took place the instant she’d stepped into the den of Frenchman. “I wish to speak to Fabroni and inquire about my belongings. He said your man has already come for them. I must have missed him along the road.”

  The innocence in her smile began to shred his reserve. “Did I not inform you your belongings would arrive today?”

  “Sì, but—”

  “Cease, Alessandra. I’ll not hear your excuses. I did not grant you permission to come into the city.”