The Wind Dancer

by Iris Johansen

  She knew suddenly she wanted desperately to live fully... to feel, to nurture her rose gardens as Caterina had told her to do. She wanted to bear children and know love as it was meant to be.

  The Medusa had left her alive and by all that was holy she would live that life.

  Chapter Nineteen.

  Forgive me, Messer, but I understand you have a room to let."

  "Then your understanding is at fault." Luigi Sarponi had a deeply creased, heavily jowled face, and the scowl now twisting it was obviously meant to discourage and intimidate. "I have no room to let and, if I did, it would not please you. My house is not for such as you. Find somewhere else to stay. There are plenty of lodgings going begging since summer is here. Rome in summer isn't a healthy place to be."

  "Are you not Luigi Sarponi?"

  "I am."

  "And did you not work in the kitchens of His Holiness until the month of April three years ago?"

  Luigi nodded warily. "I did."

  "Then you're exactly the man to whom I wish to speak. Allow me to present myself. I am Lorenzo Vasaro." Lorenzo took a step forward and, as the light from the candle on the table fell fully on Lorenzo's face, Luigi instinctively took a step back.

  "We have many matters to discuss." Lorenzo smiled. "And I think after we have had that discussion you will find you do have a room to let."

  "You speak in riddles." Luigi Sarponi poured wine in Lorenzo's wooden goblet and then his own before sitting down at the scarred table across from him. "What do you want of me?"

  "Only what you want for yourself." Lorenzo leaned forward across the table. The light from the tallow candle cast shadows beneath his high cheekbones and lit the crystal coldness of his eyes. "What you've wanted for over three years."

  "And what is that?"

  "The death of the Borgias."

  Sarponi went rigid. His gaze searched Lorenzo's impassive face. "You are misinformed."

  "Because you've not shouted your hatred of them to the four winds? If you had done so, I would have no use for you." Lorenzo smiled. "But if I should be wrong and you have no interest in the subject, I've no wish to bore you. Should I leave your house?"

  Sarponi lowered his gaze to his goblet. "Why did you come to me?"

  "I've been asking questions, very discreet questions, but I find my inquiries are usually answered."

  "I can see how they would be," Sarponi said sourly. "And after you leave, they cross themselves and pray to the saints you'll never come back."

  "Exactly." Lorenzo chuckled. "But you do not fear me, do you, Luigi? I did not think you would. I've heard you're a surly, bad-tempered rascal who fears neither God nor the devil."

  Sarponi lifted his goblet to his lips. "Neither God nor the devil can do any more to me than they've done already."

  "Which of them took your son, Luigi?" Lorenzo asked softly.

  Sarponi paused for an instant and then drank deeply and set his empty goblet down on the table. "The devil." He looked up to meet Lorenzo's eyes. "What do you know of my Mario?"

  "I know he was murdered one night by a masked band roving the streets of Rome. They killed and mutilated for the pleasure of it, and I know that shortly after his death you resigned your position as second cook in the kitchens of His Holiness to take a far less lucrative position in the kitchens of Messer Obano. You gave no reason for leaving the Vatican, and it was assumed Messer Obano paid you a fat bonus to come to him."

  "But you do not believe it?"

  Lorenzo shook his head. "Rumor has it that Cesare Borgia led the band that murdered your son. Indeed, there are stories he and his bodyguards still find it amusing to indulge their tastes in that fashion, but now they tend to go abroad to do so."

  "They are not stories," Sarponi said hoarsely. "It is the truth. What is the blinding of an artist or the murder of a boy to the great Il Valentino? The duke and his father are in league. Alexander sits on the papal throne and we kiss his feet and he lets his beloved son indulge in any act of cruelty and--" He halted the rush of words and drew a deep breath. "Mario was not like me. He possessed a sweet nature and always had a smile for everyone. He was apprenticed to become a cobbler. I told him he should become a cook like me, but he said as long as people had to walk he would not go hungry."

  "You're sure it was Borgia who killed him?"

  "He was attacked only a short distance from here and was not dead when he was brought home to me. He had eight sword thrusts through his body but he was not dead." Luigi gazed blindly at the flickering flame of the candle. "They toyed with him. They felt safe because of their masks, you see."

  "But he still recognized Borgia?"

  "No, it was the medal. Borgia's cloak fell open and Mario saw the order of St. Michael that the French king had given the duke. Il Valentino takes great pride in the gift and wears it always."

  "But you said nothing to anyone?"

  Luigi's lips twisted. "Who would I tell? His Holiness? Or perhaps Michelotto Corella, the duke's favorite assassin? No, I would only have ended up in the Tiber. But I will no longer serve either that serpent in the Vatican or his vile offspring." His gaze shifted from the candle to Lorenzo. "Are you going to kill me now?"

  "Why should I do that?"

  Luigi shrugged. "It occurred to me you might be one of Borgia's assassins tying up loose ends." "But still you spoke to me."

  "I have no great fondness for life anymore. I have no wife and my son is dead." He rubbed his neck. "I work, I come home, I sleep. There's little reason to fight to hold on to such a life."

  "I have no intention of killing you."

  A spark of interest flickered in Luigi's dark eyes at Lorenzo's slight emphasis on the last word. "Borgia? Truly?"

  "Both Borgias." Lorenzo smiled. "With your help. Do you not think this project could stir a bit of interest in you?"

  "Possibly," Luigi said cautiously. "But how can they be murdered? Both go about with guards."

  "I wasn't thinking about a knife between the ribs."

  "Poison? There's no taster at the Vatican, but that's because none is needed. One of the guards is in the kitchen the entire time the meal is prepared and accompanies the servants to the dining hall."

  "Hmm, I didn't know that. It's a circumstance that may present difficulties."

  "Difficulties?" Luigi laughed shortly. "The guard never takes his eyes off us. It will be impossible."

  "The Borgias will be dead within a month's time."

  Luigi started to argue, then stopped and studied Lorenzo's face. "I... I believe you."

  "But will you help me?"

  Luigi hesitated. "You want me to go back to work at the kitchen of His Holiness?"

  Lorenzo nodded. "And help me to get work as a cook's helper there also. I understand the duke has been dining with his Holiness at almost every meal since his return from the Romagna."

  "They say his pox has flared up again and he won't be seen abroad." Luigi shook his head. "You don't look the part of a kitchen lackey."

  "Then you must help me to change my appearance so that I do."

  Luigi regarded him critically. "Perhaps if you don't gaze at anyone directly. Your eyes--"

  "I'll be as shifty-eyed as you could want me to be."

  "And you're too clean. You must have clean hands, but a bit of grease and dirt on your face and hair would help." He smiled maliciously. "And no more baths for you. You smell too sweet."

  Lorenzo flinched as he glanced at Luigi's unkempt gray hair. "I'm sure no one is a greater authority on the subject of dirt. I place myself entirely at your disposal." Lorenzo paused. "Agreed?"

  Luigi nodded slowly. "Agreed."

  "Bellissima,"Lion said as Sanchia opened the door at his knock.

  Sanchia made a face. "At least I no longer smell of horse."

  "I thought you would like to visit Elizabet and Bartolomeo this evening. Then we could sup at the tavern on the piazza. It will be more pleasant than eating here."

  Sanchia brightened. "Could we? I was goin
g to visit them tomorrow, but I would like to see them right away."

  "And they will want to see you."

  Her smile faded. "I'll have to tell them about Piero."

  "I've already paid them a short visit to advise them you were coming. I informed them of Piero's death."

  Sanchia felt a surge of warmth at his thoughtfulness. Then Lion gently took her arm in a protective clasp and escorted her down the hall. "You've suffered enough. Now it's time to lean on me and let me take the burdens."

  He was doing it again, she thought worriedly, treating her as if she were the helpless child Bianca had been. She must do something to put a stop to it.

  Yet after they had paid their visit to Elizabet and Bartolomeo she was passionately grateful to have his strength to lean on again.

  "What's wrong?" Lion's gaze was fixed anxiously on her face as he led her toward the piazza. "You seemed happy enough when you were with the newlyweds, but now you look... " He seemed to search for a word. "Melancholy."

  "It's nothing." She felt the foolish tears brimming and determinedly blinked them back. "It's stupid of me, but I suddenly feel... alone. Elizabet and Bartolomeo are so happy and busy with their own lives. They don't need me anymore, do they?"

  "Didn't you want it so?"

  "Oh, yes. I told you I was being foolish." She walked faster, not looking at him. "I suppose it's because I feel they're now as lost to me as Piero."

  "Sanchia." Lion's hand grasped her arm. "You're not alone while you have me."

  She swallowed. He was showing her that exquisite gentleness and sweetness again, as if she were a frail invalid who needed great care or she would slip away from him. Perhaps that was the way he did view her, she thought with sudden panic. What if he felt no passion for her, only guilt and responsibility?

  Suddenly, she saw where she must lead them.

  "You're right. I'm not alone. I have you and Lorenzo." She walked faster. "No, I don't really have Lorenzo. No one has Lorenzo now. Except perhaps you. Do you think he does well in Rome? I did not like--"

  "It's not only Elizabet and Bartolomeo, you've been acting strangely since we arrived at Giulia's casa. If you wish to withdraw from the plan, only tell me and I will go another way."

  "I don't wish to withdraw. Why do you persist in thinking I'm afraid? I'm not afraid of Damari."

  "Then what do you fear?"

  "Nothing." She broke away from him and hurried on ahead. "And I'm not hungry. I think I'll go back to the casaand go to bed. You go to the tavern without me."

  "You should eat. You've had nothing since--"

  "I'm not hungry." She was running, dodging through the crowds of people as she had when she was a thief in these very same streets.

  "Sanchia!"

  She ignored Lion's shout and kept on running. She heard his steps pounding behind her on the flagstones but he did not overtake her until she was running up the stairs to the second floor of Giulia's casa.

  His hand was rough on her shoulder as he spun her around. "What in God's name is wrong with you? Are you ill?"

  "No, I'm not ill." She pulled away from him and finished climbing the stairs. "I'm not weak or afraid." She hurried down the corridor toward her chamber. "And I'm not going to shatter if you say a harsh word to me."

  He had caught up with her again and his hand on her arm brought her to a halt. "That's fortunate, for I'm about to say a number of harsh words." His eyes were glittering with anger as he dragged her down the hall, threw open the door to his own chamber, and pulled her inside. "I do not deserve this, Sanchia." He slammed the door. "I know your state is delicate but--"

  "My state is not delicate," she said through her teeth. "How many times must I tell you? But perhaps you wish to think me delicate so you have the excuse not to touch me. Then you will feel free to summon Giulia Marzo here and--"

  "I don't want Giulia in my bed," he shouted.

  "Why not? You told me once that you would not touch me if she was near."

  "I lied. I was angry that you stirred me so."

  "But now I do not stir you with anything but pity. So why should you not take Giulia to your bed?"

  His hands hovered around her throat as if he'd like to strangle her. "Cristo, is this my reward for patience? You do not stir me? Madre di Dio, I even wanted to take you in the winery when you were helpless and grieving and balanced on the edge of madness. I, too, was grieving but my body did not recognize or respect that grief." He dragged her into his arms, and her hands slid to his tight, muscular buttocks. "I'm so angry with you I want to beat you, but still I want you." He pulled her into the hollow of his hips and she felt the hardness of his arousal against her. "Tell me, am I stirred, Sanchia?" He did not wait for her answer but lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed. "I do not want Giulia. I want you!"

  He tossed her on the bed and flipped up the skirt of her gown and undershift. He untied his points and his manhood sprang boldly free. He moved quickly between her thighs. "Does this feel as if I'm stirred, Sanchia?"

  He plunged deep, wildly grinding his hips to reach the quick of her.

  She cried out, her hands reaching out blindly to clutch at his shoulders.

  He froze. "Did I hurt you?" His fingers moved between them, petting her, arousing her. "It's your own fault. Did I hurt you, dammit?"

  "No," she whispered. "It's only--"

  "Then takeme."

  The rhythm was wild, hard, almost brutal in its hunger and passion. Her head thrashed back and forth on the pillow as she attempted to keep from screaming with the intensity of the lust shuddering through every muscle and nerve in her body. She tried to help him but she was shaking too badly to do anything but hold him. He was trembling, too, she realized dimly, his breathing harsh, his chest moving in and out as if he were running.

  He cried out and threw his head back, his strong neck arching, his body going rigid as if he had been struck by an arrow. "Sanchia, I can't hold--"

  "Don't!" Her own pleasure exploded in a fiery release that left her stunned and weak.

  Minutes later she felt him leave her and carefully pull down her skirts but she was still too dazed to open her eyes. Something cold and metallic pressed against her lips. "Drink this; it will restore you."

  She opened her eyes to see his set face above her. He was still angry with her, she realized dazedly. She raised herself on one elbow and took the silver goblet. "I have need of restoration."

  He flinched. "You made me angry."

  "I believe it. You weren't gentle."

  "It was your own fault," he said fiercely. "What manner of man do you think I am? You could expect nothing else."

  She took another sip of wine. "I remember you told me I must take you into me whenever you had need. At least, you didn't push me up against a tree this time."

  He scowled. "I suppose you're going to try to leave me again. Well, I won't permit it. If you want me to tear up your bondage papers, you must wed me." He glanced away from her. "It will not be a bad life. If you do not anger me, I'll try to be gentle with you."

  "Wed you?"

  "Why are you surprised? I told you I would give you marriage if I could. Dio, we even spoke of children."

  She shook her head. "I never thought of marriage for me. It seems strange... "

  "Then think on it now. For I will not let you go."

  She nodded solemnly, her lashes lowering to veil her eyes. "I shall think of it."

  He frowned. "You've thought long enough. What say you? I'm no longer as wealthy as--"

  "Yes."

  "You agree?" He gazed at her uncertainly. "You're not angry with me?"

  She tried to smother a smile. "What would be the use? You would not change." She paused. "Thank the saints."

  His gaze narrowed on her face. "You do not mind my roughness?"

  She shook her head. "It is a part of you. I cannot separate the roughness from the gentleness. I cannot say 'Yes, I will love this side of Lion Andreas, but no, I will not love the other side.
' I love the entire man."

  A slow smile lit his face. "Truly?"

  "Truly," she said softly. "I love the lust and the gentleness and the stubbornness and the--What are you doing?"

  "Undressing you." His laughter was joyous. "I wish to give you more lust to love. We will deal with the rest later." He met her gaze and said softly, "But this time we will take our time and I will also show you gentleness." He grimaced. "If I can."

  And Sanchia's laughter joined Lion's as she fell back on the bed and welcomed him once more into her arms and into her body.

  "Why did you do it?" Lion's fingers were gently stroking the shining white lock at her temple. "I'm not a fool. I know you deliberately forced me to anger when I only wanted to show you I could give you honor and sweet words."

  "I wanted to bring you back to me and it was the only way I could think to do it. I realized I was coming back to life and I wished you to travel the same road with me." She paused. "And perhaps I was a little afraid. You were so different... "

  "Most women would have applauded the difference. Why would you be fearful of it?"

  She laughed shakily, and brushed her lips against his bare shoulder. "I am a slave. Slaves are not treated with gentleness and sweet words. It made me uneasy." She paused. "For a while I even wondered if perhaps you felt it your duty to care for me because of the service I did at Mandara."

  "Not duty--love. I honor you for what you did at Mandara, but I loved you long before." He was silent a moment. "Will you wed me?"

  She raised her head to look at him in surprise. "Of course. I told you I--"

  "Now. We have time before Damari comes. We will go to the priest tomorrow and make the arrangements."

  She gazed searchingly at him. His expression was taut, strained. "Why do you feel the need for such haste?"

  "I want you to be mine. Is that not reason enough?"

  And he wanted her to be protected by his name if by chance they were not successful in killing Damari, she realized, chilled. He wanted her safe, if death took him from her. Her cheek lowered to nestle in the hollow of his shoulder. "It is reason enough. I would like to feel you are mine also," she whispered. "Yes, let us go to see the priest tomorrow."