"We won't stop. Not until we've reached Solinari." Lion swung onto the stallion and started down the trail.
"Now he's angry," Lorenzo said as he lifted Sanchia onto the mare. Then, as her gaze flew down to his face in alarm, he shook his head. "Not with you. With himself. He allowed you to distract him from his quest for the Wind Dancer. Not for long, but he still considers it a weakness in himself that he won't tolerate. Personally, I find it a very good sign for the future."
"Why?"
He gazed at her a moment, as if trying to decide whether to answer. "Because Lion's sense of responsibility has become a form of bondage. He regards himself not only as the guardian of the Wind Dancer but of everything in his particular world. I suppose it's not surprising. I understand his father instilled that belief in him from the time he was hardly more than a babe. In a way, the statue is a symbol of that bondage."
"Bondage? He's a great lord. Responsibility is not bondage."
"In some men it is." Lorenzo shrugged. "So keep him so aroused he can't think of responsibilities, Sanchia. It's the best thing for both of you."
"I don't know how to keep him wanting me." Sanchia's cheeks felt hot. "And I don't know if I'd want to make him forget his responsibilities. Surely it is only honorable to--"
Lorenzo groaned as he mounted his horse. "Santa Maria, another acolyte burning incense at the temple of honor and glory. I thought you had more sense." He shook his head. "Oh well, perhaps that's what draws him to you. Like to like."
Sanchia stared at him incredulously. "We're not at all alike."
"Yes, you are. But you, Sanchia, are also like me. It will be interesting to see which aspect of your character triumphs in the end." He turned to look at her with cool appraisal. "Power can be very heady. It may occur to you that it would be to your advantage to use the passion Lion feels for you to rise in the world. I have nothing against ambition, but I won't have Lion used. If you show signs of doing so, I will have to remove you."
"I have no power over him."
"Continue in that belief and you'll remain in robust health."
"You care about him." The knowledge that a man as chillingly objective as Lorenzo could care for anyone filled her with wonder. "Why?"
"Who knows?" His smile was self-mocking. "Do you wish me to mouth some maudlin drivel about Lion being the man I would have been in other circumstances? Or even the son I might have sired?" He shook his head. "What makes any man feel anything? Life is filled with strange, exotic emotions, with great mysteries. Which is what makes it tolerable." His horse moved forward at a faster clip as he touched his spurs to the animal's sides.
It was late afternoon when they approached a small farmhouse on the edge of a clear blue lake.
"We go no farther," Lion said as he reined in Tabron. "The village is only a short distance from here, and Solinari lies just beyond it. I don't want word of our arrival to be carried to the palazzo, so we'll wait here for Marco to come to us. I'll talk to the owner of this farm and make arrangements for us to stay the night in his house."
"Who is Marco?" Sanchia asked.
"My brother." Lion dismounted and strode across the barnyard and into the small sod farmhouse.
Another surprise. She really knew nothing about Lionello Andreas, she thought. Was this brother as fierce as Lion and the mother who had borne them both? It was more than probable. She experienced a sudden longing for blessedly familiar Florence where every danger was at least known.
"Marco is not at all like Lion." Lorenzo's assurance came as if he had read her thoughts. He dismounted, then helped her to do so too. "You may find him charming. Most women do."
"It's not her place to find him charming." Lion had returned and was standing on the step. "I have no intention of sharing Sanchia with him."
"How ungenerous of you," Lorenzo said. "Not to mention surprising. Why are you so miserly with Sanchia when you're so willing to share--"
"The house looks clean enough," Lion interrupted. "I've paid the farmer for a night's lodging, and he and his wife will go to his father's farm a few miles from here to shelter tonight. The man will walk to the village to seek out word of Marco and give him a message that we're here while the woman heats water for bathing."
"Excellent," Lorenzo said. "And since you're so fond of these four-footed beasts, I know you won't mind taking care of the horses while I rest." He prudently didn't wait for a reply but strode into the farm house.
Lion smiled lopsidedly as he gazed after Lorenzo. "He'd be very disappointed to realize that I don't mind." He took the reins of the horses and led them toward the small barn. "The hut has only one room, and there's going to be little privacy until we leave Solinari." He glanced over his shoulder. "Why are you just standing there? Come with me to the barn."
She finally understood and hurried after him. "You wish me to lie with you again?"
"If we can find a pile of hay or a blanket free of vermin." He opened the door to the small barn, led the horses inside, and tied their reins to an empty stall. "Otherwise we'll have to be content with a post to lean against." He suddenly stopped and turned to face her in the shadowy barn. "It makes no difference. Nothing matters but this." His hands reached out, moving over her shoulders as a great shudder ran through him. His gaze raked the barn with frantic urgency until he saw a small heap of hay beside one of the stalls. "I wanted you again not ten minutes after we left the brook. I ached with it. I ache now." He led her quickly to the pile of hay and pushed her to her knees. "Make it stop." His voice was low, fierce with frustration and anger. "Santa Maria, make it stop!"
He pushed up her skirt and took her with even more wildness than he had shown earlier that afternoon and had scarcely reached the peak when he took her a second time, drawing her with him into a vortex of fiery pleasure.
Lion moved off her, lying beside her on the hay, his chest laboring as he tried to catch his breath. She was also panting, still trembling helplessly from the emotional storm through which Lion had swept her.
"I hate this." Lion thrust his arm over his eyes, speaking through clenched teeth. "It won't last, you know."
"I don't know. I don't know anything about this," Sanchia whispered. "But it seems to me that if you hate it, you wouldn't do it." He didn't answer and she continued uncertainly, "Is it any different with me than it is with Giulia Marzo?"
His arm fell away from his face to reveal dark eyes still glittering with resentment. He smiled cruelly. "Of course; she's much better at it. Do you think I'd bother with you if she were here?"
She felt a wrenching pain that took her off guard. "I'm sorry you don't find me adequate. Perhaps if you'd tell me what I'm doing wrong... "
"What are you doing wrong?" His voice was suddenly savage as he jumped to his feet and began unsaddling Tabron. "You're too tight around me, your nipples are too rosy and pointed, your skin is too soft." He jerked the saddle from the stallion's back and dropped it to the earthen floor. "And you stare at me as if I were going to devour you until I cannot stop myself from doing it." He stood with his back to her, his head averted. "Take off your clothes."
She gaped in amazement. He surely couldn't want her again already.
"Stand up and take off your clothes!"
She scrambled to her feet and hurriedly pulled off her gown, slippers, and undershift.
"Come here."
She walked toward him, her gaze fixed anxiously on his averted face.
He turned his head and his gaze went over her body searching out every curve and hollow, every secret place. "Mine," he said hoarsely, his nostrils flaring. "Every bit of you is mine for as long as I care to keep you. Do you understand?"
She nodded quickly.
His hands reached out and cupped her breasts. "Mine. No one is to touch you. You will not let anyone lay his hand on you." His hands moved to the tight curls protecting her womanhood. "Never. You will give no other man so much as a smile unless I bid it."
His voice was so fierce she could do nothing but
stare up at him helplessly.
"Say it. You belong to me."
"I... belong to you."
"No man will ever touch you but me."
"No man will ever touch me but you."
He seemed curiously tormented as he stared down into her face. Then his hands dropped away from her body and he turned away. "Now you can stop looking at me with those big frightened eyes and get out of here. Put on your gown and go to the house."
She stumbled back away from him and swiftly started to dress. "I could help you with the horses."
"Go to the house."
She walked across the earthen floor and glanced back over her shoulder as she reached the door. Lion hadn't moved; his spine was taut with tension. "I'm not really frightened of you any longer. I was at first, but I don't think you mean me harm."
His hands clenched on the mane of the horse. "I must have the Wind Dancer."
"I know you must," she said, puzzled at the sudden change of subject. "I'll get the key. I promised you and I keep my word. When do I have to go to the palazzo?"
"Tonight, if Marco has the information we need."
Shock ran through her. "So soon?"
"Yes." He turned away and began to loosen the cinches of the mare's saddle. "Go and tell Lorenzo to see that you're bathed and freshly gowned before Marco arrives."
Not garbed for Lion's pleasure this time, she thought numbly, but to go to the palazzo.
"Hurry!"
Sanchia whirled and walked quickly across the barnyard toward the house.
Marco Andreas rode into the barnyard just as the last glorious scarlet rays of sunset were caught and mirrored on the still surface of the lake. He stopped a moment gazing at the beauty before him and a smile warmed the chiseled perfection of his features.
"Well, what do you think of him?" Lorenzo murmured to Sanchia as they watched Lion as he walked across the yard to greet his brother.
Sanchia gazed at the handsome man laughing down at Lion and an involuntary smile touched her own lips. "He's one of the shining people."
"The shining people?"
"You know, the ones you see walking along the streets who always seem to be so happy and full of life. They wear the gayest clothing, they play the mandolin and sing serenades to their ladies. They usually paint or have a passion for sculpting or writing poems... "
Lorenzo raised a brow. "And what do you think is Marco's particular passion?"
She tried to gaze objectively at Marco Andreas who was now in deep discussion with Lion. Objectivity proved difficult when faced with such comeliness. Marco bore little resemblance to his brother. He was perhaps a few years younger and his features were classically beautiful in the manner of Michelangelo's statue of David. His shoulder-length hair was not the onyx black of Lion's but a shining acorn brown, and his eyes were not cold, glittering ebony but warm hazel. At last she said, "He paints."
"And how do you come to that conclusion?"
"He was gazing at the sunset and smiling as he rode into the barnyard. A sculptor is usually concerned with solid shapes and probably wouldn't have noticed the sunset. A poet would have been frowning as he tried to transform the beauty he saw into words. Messer Marco accepted what he saw with joy, knowing that he need only copy what was there."
Lorenzo burst into laughter, and Lion and Marco turned to look at him inquiringly.
Lorenzo nodded at Marco, his lips still twitching with amusement. "Good evening, Marco."
Marco smiled easily. "You seem very happy to see me. Have I done something deserving of mirth?"
"Would I dare laugh at one of the shining people?" Lorenzo turned to Sanchia. "He does paint and, though he does not play the mandolin, he has quite a pleasing tenor." He turned back to Marco. "Tell me, have you sung any serenades of late?"
Marco grimaced. "I won't rise to your jabs, Lorenzo. I take it I'm the butt of one of your less than kind jokes?"
"You malign me. I was just verifying Sanchia's estimate of your character. She finds you very pleasing to the eye."
"Does she indeed?" Lion asked softly, his gaze narrowing on Sanchia's face.
"I meant no offense," she said quickly. "Messer Lorenzo merely asked me to--It was like a game, a puzzle."
"A puzzle you wish to solve?" Lion asked, his tone silky. "In what manner, I wonder?"
Marco cast a quick glance at his brother before stepping forward and bowing gravely. "I'm honored you find me of interest, Madonna Sanchia. Knowing Lorenzo, I'm sure his words have no real weight. He takes pleasure in amusing himself by setting us all topsy-turvy. Isn't that so, Lion?"
"At times."
"Most of the time." Marco went on quickly, "Lion tells me you're going to aid us in retrieving the Wind Dancer. It's very kind of you to offer your help. When you see how beautiful the statue is, you'll understand why a man like Damari should never be allowed to possess it."
"Kindness has nothing to do with it. She has no choice. Sanchia does as she's told." Lion took the reins of Marco's horse and abruptly turned away. "Go into the house. I'll join you as soon as I've stabled and watered your horse."
"I can do it," Marco protested.
Lion didn't answer as he led the horse across the barnyard.
Marco pursed his lips in a soundless whistle. "Lion appears to be in a less than felicitous temper. I suppose it's to be expected considering this night's work. He'd much rather go after the key himself than have to wait while you bring it to him, Madonna Sanchia."
"Sanchia," she corrected. It was pleasing to be addressed with such unusual respect but it also brought with it a sense of awkwardness. "Call me Sanchia."
Marco smiled gently. "It would be my delight. A lovely name for an exquisite lady. And you must call me Marco." He gestured for her to precede him into the house. "We must make sure nothing happens to you tonight."
The words were spoken with such warmth Sanchia felt as if she had been touched suddenly by sunlight. She smiled back, feeling a surge of optimism. "Lion said I would be safe."
The faintest frown marred Marco's brow. "I hope so. The task won't be easy."
"You have the information?" Lorenzo asked as he followed them into the house.
Marco nodded as he reached beneath his cloak and pulled out a folded parchment from his belt. "I was able to bribe old Vittorio to draw me this map. He was a gardener at the palazzo before Damari bought it, and he greatly dislikes the new master. He was glad to have sufficient ducats so he could retire to the home of his grandson in Genoa, and he very wisely left Solinari this morning while Damari was still in Pisa."
"Damari isn't here?" Lion asked from the doorway.
Marco unfolded the parchment and spread it on the roughhewn table in the center of the room. "He's been in Pisa for two days and isn't expected back until early next week." His gaze lifted from the parchment to meet Lion's. "According to Vittorio, the captain of the guard said he went there to meet with Duke Valentino."
"Borgia?" Lion tensed. "Then we have little time."
Marco shrugged. "Perhaps more than we think. Cesare may not be in a mood to listen to Damari's proposals. He's had his hands full to overflowing with his conquest of the Romagna and, as you know, it was only a few months ago he used his old friend De Lorqua's head to decorate a pike in the piazza at Cesena because of the unrest there."
"Borgia's always in the mood to further his ambitions." Lion strode forward to peer down at the parchment. "What is this?"
"A map of the grounds of the palazzo."
"It's getting too dark to see in here. Someone light a candle."
Sanchia hastened to obey and set a fat tallow candle on the table.
The flickering flame illuminated a crudely drawn map that seemed to consist of a complicated series of dashes. "This doesn't look like a map," she said, puzzled.
Marco made a face. "Vittorio is no mapmaker, but I hope he's accurate." His slim index finger tapped the longest dash at the top of the paper. "This is the palazzo." He traced a complex square of markin
gs near the middle of the parchment. "And this is the maze in the garden." He pointed at a square in the exact center of the maze. "And this is the storehouse where Damari keeps his treasures. The maze has only two entrances, each guarded by two men."
"Very clever." Lorenzo stepped closer to the table. "Even if someone manages to overpower the guards at one entrance the chances are that, without a map, a thief would become lost in the maze either before he reached the storehouse or when he was trying to leave with his loot."
"And Damari would undoubtedly have the guard-posts checked at frequent intervals," Lion said.
"Every thirty minutes," Marco agreed. "Damari usually keeps at least fifty men in the guardroom at the palazzo, but he took an escort of fifteen to Pisa with him."
"Thirty-five men against three," Lion remarked dryly. "Let's hope we can move through the maze fast enough to avoid them."
"Is that where I have to go?" Sanchia touched the square in the middle of the maze. "The storehouse?"
Marco smiled reassuringly. "No, you only have to go as far as the south entrance to the maze. Rodrigo Estaban, the officer guarding the entrance, has the key to the storehouse on a ring at his belt." He reached beneath his cloak and pulled out a large iron key and handed it to Sanchia. "It looks a good deal like this one. Your task is to steal the key to the storehouse and substitute this key in its place on the ring in such a way that Estaban won't realize it's been stolen."
"Are there other keys on the belt?" Sanchia asked.
"Two. One to the dungeon and one to the gates of the high iron fence that surrounds the palazzo and the grounds. There's dense shrubbery bordering the fence that will be useful for cover, and you don't have to worry about the gates. Vittorio gave me his key to unlock them and passed on a bribe to the soldiers who usually stand guard there."
Sanchia gazed blindly down at the iron key in her hand.
"What's wrong?" Lion asked sharply.
"The other keys. I'll not only have to steal the key and put this one on the ring but keep the other keys from clanging together. I'm not sure I can do it."
"You can do it," Lion said. "You have to do it."
The Wind Dancer Page 11
