by Carmen Caine
A strong wave of homesickness rose to overwhelm her. It was amusing, in a strange way. She’d spent her entire life attempting to escape La Serenìsima. And now that she had, in less than a month, she found herself pining for the canals, piazzas, and masquerades.
Snorting at herself in derision, she squared her shoulders, marched across the drawbridge, and into the castle.
Once in her chamber, she kicked off her muddied shoes and lit the tapers. And then with a slow, almost ritualistic precision, she laid out her collection of knives upon the table.
Blades were her specialty. She was talented, and her aim was extraordinary. For her, there was nothing more exhilarating than to hit a target dead on. And she found throwing knives relaxing; it offered her clarity of mind.
With a smile, she held one of the bone-handled stilettos up to the candlelight in admiration. The blade was sharp and the balance keen.
And then with a quick flick of her wrist, she sent the slim weapon flying through the air.
It made a satisfying thud as it struck the center of the door.
Nodding in approval, she picked up the next blade and raised her hand when a sharp series of raps sounded on the other side of the door.
Liselle gritted her teeth. Only Pascal knocked in that manner.
“Òsti, I’ve naught to say, Pascal,” she said pointedly, taking aim once again.
“But I have enough words for us both, bábia!” came his muffled, sarcastic response.
Liselle hesitated, but she knew that if she didn’t let him in, he’d most likely spend the rest of the night causing a commotion outside her chamber. With a growl of exasperation, she stalked to the door and slammed the latch back.
Her tall cousin slouched against the wall with folded arms. “Your games with Lord Gray end this day,” he stated with a dark look.
The mere mention of Julian’s name elicited a wealth of conflicting emotions, and the memory of his muscular chest made Liselle’s lips curve in a delightfully wicked smile. The smile hastily disappeared under Pascal’s disapproving glare.
Entering the chamber, he kicked the door shut behind him.
“Why, whatever do you mean, cuxìn caro?” Liselle asked sweetly, assuming an innocent expression.
Shoving her aside, he strode to the table and ran a finger over her collection of knives.
“There’s not a tongue in this castle that isn’t wagging over your doings with the man in the kitchens last night,” he said, picking up a large blade and twirling it through his fingers. “Did you really think I’d not discover that you drugged him? Is he such a danger to your heart that you seek to hide and protect him from me? I am not blind, bábia!”
Liselle drew back in surprise. Her cousin was proving to be anything but blind! What could she possibly say? She had sought to hide Julian from Pascal to keep him safe! And maybe even protect her heart in doing so.
“Mayhap I should eliminate him after all,” her cousin drawled, “Mayhap then you could focus on your task of finding Dolfin and free me from this mockery of a country.” He waved his hand in an all-encompassing gesture and heaved a great sigh. “And to think I found the French wine lacking! I am convinced that the English merely bottle their pig swill and are too dense to know better!”
Liselle tossed her head. She’d dealt with Pascal her entire life. She did not fear him.
Especially when she knew of his secret doings.
“If you suffer so, cuxìn caro, I’m sure you can find your way home,” she said with a false smile.
“One would think I could, bábia,” he agreed easily enough before adding in a biting tone, “I have escorted you home in disgrace oft enough, have I not?”
And then locking his dark eyes on hers, he sent the large blade flying across the room to embed itself next to her stiletto with a loud thwack.
With an even sweeter smile than before, she continued in a voice that dripped honey, “And who are you to demand anything? You, who have dealings with the Saluzzi and other members of the Vindictam in the shadows, behind Orazio’s back.”
She could tell by the way he stood there, silent and still, that she had stumbled upon a secret he had wished to keep. How fortunate she had followed him!
Moving to the door, she yanked the knives out and returned to the table, her face still brandishing a smile.
“How observant of you,” Pascal murmured with a strange gleam in his dark eyes. “I would that you knew so much of Dolfin.”
Liselle scowled, and raising her wrist, took aim.
And then Pascal’s lip curled into a smirk. “Focus on your task, bábia! Cease following me and cease your games of seduction with Lord Gray, or Orazio will be sure to send you back home on the first ship he can find! And by yourself! I’ll not be your donkey again!”
But at the mention of her brother’s name, Liselle tensed, and the stiletto flew wild to bounce off the stones next to the door. “Orazio?” she asked, “Is he here? Have you had word? Were those men messengers—”
Pascal’s response was immediate. “Forget you ever saw them, bábia,” he ordered in a tone of authority that she had never heard before. But then he shrugged and pretended to brush a speck of dust off his sleeve as he added nonchalantly, “And if you do not, I shall relish the opportunity to inform your brother that you prefer to spend your evenings disrobing Lord Julian Gray rather than to follow orders.”
Liselle rolled her eyes, but she was quick to respond with a threat of her own. “Do not even think of it, bábio. If such words were to fall from your lips, Orazio just might hear of your harsh words to the Saluzzo in the marketplace.”
They stood there, glaring at one another, and then Pascal threw his head back in a scornful laugh. “Fine then, dally with him as you may, Liselle. A drunken fool is a fitting match for you, I must admit.”
“Basta! Enough of this dithering!” Liselle snapped. Returning to the door, she wrenched it open and ordered, “You may leave now! Go! Marcìa via! Put wings upon your feet!”
To her surprise, he stalked past her straightway, but on reaching the threshold, he paused to peer down at her and say with a disdainful twist of his lip, “If you thought of Dolfin even half as much as you do of Lord Julian Gray, you would have found the old man by now!”
“Did you say Lord Gray?” Liselle gasped, drawing her hands to her mouth as if shocked. And then she reminded him harshly, “I forbid his name to cross your lips! Remember well, or else I might find myself inadvertently speaking of your visitors, fair cousin!” With a scowl, she jiggled the door handle.
Pascal’s fine nostrils flared. “Then seal your lips, bábia. You’ve been naught but a thorn in my side from the start!”
Liselle gritted her teeth in a fake smile, a smile he matched with one even more false.
And then Pascal turned to leave, but he had taken only a step before he paused and asked as an afterthought, “In your prowling about the village, did you see a cowled monk?”
“Many!” she retorted. “Which one?”
He hesitated and then cursing under his breath, strode away.
With a burst of temper, Liselle kicked the door shut and leaned against it. Santo Ciélo, but Pascal was difficult to deal with!
After a time, her temper cooled to be replaced by a perplexed feeling of unease.
She never would have imagined Pascal could be so easily blackmailed. It was disturbing. What could possibly be the secret he protected so dearly? She had not known the two men that had met him, but for certain she’d recognized the distinctive greeting. But why had they kissed Pascal’s hand? No one had ever kissed Orazio’s hand.
Clearly, Pascal had a mission that neither she nor Orazio knew anything about.
But who had given it to him and what was it? Orazio was his Magno Duce. And if Orazio had no knowledge of it, then only the Quattuor Gladiis could have given Pascal such a charter. But why would someone so powerful in the Vindictam stoop to deal directly with her arrogant cousin?
Diàmbarne! Bu
t it was enough to make her head split.
Annoyed to be thinking so much of her cousin, Liselle tucked the bone-handled stilettos back safely into her sleeves. And then freeing her hair from her net, she picked up a fine silver-handled comb and ran its teeth through her tresses, directing her thoughts once more to a far more pleasant subject.
Lord Gray.
The man certainly had a mysterious habit of showing up everywhere of late. A fact she found quite delightful. Absently combing her hair, she recalled his muscular, hard body and his piercing gray eyes.
For one brief, glorious moment at the blacksmith’s, she thought she’d seen in those eyes a look of real hunger, hunger for her. She shivered, reliving the moment, and then her lashes flew open in outright alarm.
Santo Ciélo, but Pascal was right! She spent far too much time thinking of the seductive Scot. And in all likelihood, Nicoletta was right as well. The man probably was a rogue and thought of nothing other than satisfying his own needs.
Expelling a breath, Liselle leaned her head against the window and looked out. Dusk had fallen. The dark clouds rolling in from the north hid any sign of a sunset.
The dogs were barking in the courtyard once again, and she saw that some new knight had just arrived riding a black charger as a score of soaked and muddied soldiers stumbled behind him on foot.
“Fools,” Liselle whispered. It made little sense for them to die for the pompous Albany’s meaningless crown.
It was then that she noticed a solitary man standing near the stables observing the new arrivals with interest.
Her heart flopped.
Even from this distance, she knew it was Julian.
Biting her lip, she peered down at him for a time, wondering what he sought and, despite herself, admiring his sharply defined muscles and shoulder-length blond hair.
It seemed he would stand there all night, a prospect she quite looked forward to, until she noticed a man swathed in a black cloak observing him from the battlements above.
Her eyes widened in alarm.
Was it Pascal? Had he broken his word?
Without hesitation, she made for her chamber door.
Her cousin’s nature had always been scheming and deceitful, but she had never known him to so deliberately cross her. Flying down the stairwell, she ordered her beating heart to slow, but it did not obey.
Bursting out into the courtyard, she pushed her way through the men thronging about in the rain. Ignoring their calls for her attention, she finally broke free of the crowd just to see Julian stride into the stables.
There was no sign of the dark figure on the battlements. Wiping the rain from her face, Liselle searched the surrounding area.
Almost immediately, the dark shadowy form appeared behind the stables, and she caught her breath in a mixture of relief and concern. The man was much too short to be Pascal.
But then, who could it be?
One of his mysterious companions? Or, cà de dìa, a Saluzzo?
As she watched, the figure darted into the stables through the back entrance.
She was behind him in a flash.
Instinctively unsheathing a stiletto, she stepped inside the building. The stench of foul straw met her nostrils. The interior was so dark she couldn’t see, but then at the far end, Julian’s blond hair gleamed in the sudden flash of a torch flaring to life.
Squinting, Liselle saw only piles of straw, saddles, and ropes.
There was no sign of the furtive stranger.
Ahead, Julian dropped the torch into an iron sconce and entered one of the stalls.
A horse whickered loudly in greeting.
“Aye, ‘tis time to be leaving soon, lad,” Julian chuckled fondly in response.
Cautiously, Liselle crept closer and dropped to a crouch, leaning forward for a better view. The stones dug roughly into her knees.
“Easy, lad,” Julian was crooning as he led the beast out of the stall. “There’s a lad now.”
And it was then that Liselle saw a glint of metal from above.
It was the Saluzzo from the market pace. Immediately, she recognized the wiry man with dark stubby brows crouched in the rafters, a sharp blade glittering betwixt his teeth and a heavy coil of rope in his hands.
And then he lunged forward to spring down upon Julian from above.
Chapter Seven – The Protection of the Vindictam
Liselle didn’t hesitate. She let her stiletto loose. It wouldn’t be a serious strike, but it would be enough to prevent the man from harming Julian.
The Saluzzo made a shocked, gargling sound as her blade struck home. Landing off balance, he dropped the rope and stumbled forward with the bone-handled stiletto protruding from his shoulder.
Startled, Julian stepped back, unsheathing his dirk in a single movement.
And then the Saluzzo straightened, and his blade appeared in his hand as he crouched as if ready to strike Julian.
“Who are ye?” Julian thundered as he lunged forward.
With a curse, the Saluzzo began to retreat.
“Have a care, Lord Gray!” the man rasped in warning. “Your friends in the Vindictam will not protect you for long! We will find you!” For one brief moment, he glared into the darkness in Liselle’s direction, and then turning on his heel, fled the stables.
Liselle closed her eyes and swallowed.
What had she done?
She felt ill.
But not because she had just attacked a Saluzzo from Ferrara, an action that, should they hear of it, would surely shatter the fragile truce between the Vindictam and the Saluzzi family.
No, it was the sight of blood that had made her nauseated, the first drops she had ever spilled.
What kind of assassin was she?
And then Julian’s Scottish burr commanded, “Reveal yourself!”
* * *
Silence was Julian’s only answer.
He’d recognized his assailant as the Saluzzo in the marketplace. But what cause had the man to attack him? He prodded the coil of rope with his boot. Or had the man been trying to abduct him? For what reason?
And who had averted the attack and perhaps just saved his life?
God’s Wounds! He hadn’t the time for this mystery! He still had to procure proof of Albany’s betrayal. Chasing would-be abductors and assassins would be a distraction.
When nothing moved, he sheathed his dirk, aggravated at the delay in his plans. And slapping his horse on the rump, he guided the beast back into the stall.
“I’ll be back soon, lad,” he promised.
Aye, he’d throttle some answers from the Saluzzo, and right quickly!
Quenching the torch, Julian headed outside the stables to search for the man. It wasn’t hard to pick up his trail. Immediately, he found traces of blood, and judging by the size of the drops, the man’s wound wasn’t as trivial as it had first seemed.
He hadn’t tracked the man far before screams resonated from the kitchens.
His quarry had been discovered.
Sprinting towards the commotion, he arrived to see a maid waving her hands frantically at the scullery door.
“Lord Gray!” She seized his arm. “Signor Balbus has been sorely injured! Oh, please help him straightway!”
Julian strode into the scullery and peered down at the unconscious man at his feet. Prodding him with a booted toe, he glanced up at the maid and asked, “And how do ye know this man’s name?”
“Oh, he’s a rich merchant, my lord!” She gasped, and then stepping closer, she lowered her voice and hissed conspiratorially, “But he’s really an Italian prince in disguise! He made me swear to tell no one!”
Julian suppressed a snort.
And then the place filled with more maids pleading, “Please help him, my lord!” and “Send for the herb-wife at once!”
Julian stifled a growl of frustration. He’d never be able to wring answers from the man under such circumstances, even if he were to regain consciousness.
As if on cue,
the Saluzzo moaned.
Kneeling by his side, Julian heaved the assassin onto his back, and under the guise of staunching the blood, swiftly searched the man.
There was little on him, save for a small velvet pouch attached to a leather belt. But, it was an unusual belt. Upon closer inspection, Julian saw that it was quite intricate, a parchment-thin strip of leather wound loosely on top of a more serviceable belt of thick hide.
Ordering a maid to press down on the stab wound in his stead, Julian swiftly unbuckled the looser belt and slid it and the pouch under his knee. As he did so, a bloodied bone-handled stiletto fell to the stone floor.
He recognized it at once; the small knife had subverted the attack. Wondering at the identity of his savior, he wiped the blood off the blade and slipped it into his boot.
And then the herb-wife arrived to issue orders, and Julian seized the opportunity to pick up the pouch and belt and then to slip away.
Threading his way through the maze of castle passages, he swiped a torch, and returning to his chamber, began his inspection.
Fishing the stiletto out of his boot, he eyed it curiously. It was well made, aye, exquisitely made, even. Small, deadly, and bearing no identifying mark.
The Saluzzo’s velvet pouch held nothing but coins and what looked like a small bottle of ink. Julian frowned, a little puzzled, before tucking it away into his sporran. Why would the man carry ink?
And then he turned his gaze upon the belt.
The top strip was of stretched leather, resembling parchment more than anything else. It had been folded lengthwise into thirds and unwrapping it revealed a series of dark letters written at different angles and of varying widths apart.
Julian’s eyes lit.
A message!
He scanned the groups of letters with interest, recognizing only fragments of what appeared to be Latin. Peering closely at the slanted characters, he looped the leather around his hand, wondering if the matching angles would form full words.
His first few attempts produced nothing.
But then his eyes widened in surprise as two words formed: Giuliano Gray.
