Orphan of the Olive Tree - Historical Romance Saga

by Patzer, Mirella Sichirollo

  “I have made provision for Lorenzo. When Gilda Bellini died, her husband, Gianfranco, wanted to sell his land and move to Milano to live with his son and family. I bought all of his land that bordered ours. The land is just as rich and productive. That will be Lorenzo’s inheritance.”

  “Does Lorenzo know?” Luca could not imagine his brother being happy with the news. No one loved Casa di Fiore more than Lorenzo. His loving care was evident in each blade of grass, every bountiful harvest, and all the fine horses foaled on it.

  “No, but I plan to tell him soon.” Enrico paused. “Before we formalize your betrothal to Giustina.”

  “I’m not ready to be married.” Luca had not intended to speak about this matter to his father yet, but now that his father had raised it, this was as good a time as any. Convincing his father to change his mind on a matter of honor would not be easy.

  “Bah, what do you mean, you’re not ready? You’re a grown man. It’s time for you to settle down and beget a child or two of your own.”

  “There is more I have to do yet.”

  “What can there possibly be?” Enrico raised a brow. “One horse race is the same as another. How many more must you win before you are satisfied? Giustina is a beautiful woman with fine lines; she’ll give you strong sons and beautiful daughters.”

  “She does not want to marry me.” Luca reached for a knife and peeled the fig.

  “Don’t worry about Giustina’s reaction to last night’s little display with that dancer; it is nothing. Giustina’s a woman, she’ll pout and withdraw for a few days, but then she’ll come around. You’ll see.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” Luca popped a slice of the fig into his mouth. The succulent fruit moistened his parched throat.

  “Then what did you mean?” Enrico asked, leaning forward, brows drawn together.

  “I mean that Giustina loves Lorenzo. Moreover, Lorenzo loves her. She should marry him, not me.”

  Enrico’s face colored as he pushed away his plate. “Love has nothing to do with marriage.”

  “No, but love is the difference between cold comfort and true happiness. Let Lorenzo and Giustina marry. Let them be happy together.”

  Enrico’s face puckered into hardness. “No! A blood oath has been sworn. Nothing can change that.” He slammed his fist hard on the table. The knife catapulted from the cheese plate onto the floor. “According to law, a betrothal is considered as binding as marriage. You and Giustina have been betrothed since childhood and are therefore regarded legally as husband and wife – even before the wedding and physical union. You will not bring dishonor upon our family and shame the Beneventos. I am in debt to Carlo for saving my life and must repay it.”

  “What difference does it make whether Lorenzo or I marry her? We were born only moments apart. Surely Carlo will understand.”

  “A blood oath is sacred and cannot be broken. Your betrothal is binding. I will not hear of anymore stalling tactics. Go ahead and enter a few more races, but in six months’ time, you will marry Giustina.”

  “You will not consider speaking to Carlo about it?” Luca jabbed his knife into the center of the cheese.

  “I will not shame our good family name by mentioning it.” Enrico rose to his feet. “Better for you to forget this matter and resign yourself to marriage.”

  “And if I don’t?” Luca raised an eyebrow in challenge.

  “Then you are not my son.”

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  Lorenzo remained awake for most of the night, contemplating the right words to convince his father to allow him to marry Giustina. At first light, he donned his clothes and went out to help Nanino feed the horses and muck out the stalls. He worked quickly, eager to meet with his father.

  “Ho, testa-dura! You hard-head! Watch where you fling that horseshit! You nearly hit me with it,” Nanino shouted, as he walked past pushing a wheelbarrow full of fresh hay.

  With a pitchfork, Lorenzo tossed more soiled straw out of the stall at great velocity. “Well, if you know I’m mucking out stalls, why the devil don’t you wait before walking past?” Lorenzo blasted.

  “What in the hell is irritating you this morning? You’ve never been this ill-tempered before,” Nanino chastened.

  “None of your business.” Though used to the dwarf’s rough manner, Lorenzo was in no mood for it this morning.

  “Suit yourself,” Nanino muttered as he continued by, shaking his head as he went.

  Lorenzo toiled until he finished the last stall. Leaving the barn, he washed his hands in a nearby tub, rubbing them dry on his clothes and pants. Then he strode with squared shoulders to the house.

  The moment he stepped inside, he heard raised voices coming from the kitchen. He walked quietly to the door, peered through the crack in the doorjamb, and listened to every word.

  Luca was trying to convince their father to release him from his betrothal to Giustina, but his father was refusing. When the heated dialogue ended, and Luca stormed out, he nearly bumped into him.

  “You heard everything?” Luca asked.

  “Enough,” Lorenzo responded.

  “So now you know how I truly feel. It should be you who marries Giustina, not me.”

  “I cannot deny my feelings for her.”

  “Then you agree?”

  “Of course I agree, and I am grateful to you for trying to sway Father.”

  Luca shook his head. “The man is as stubborn as a donkey carting a heavy load. Maybe you’ll have better luck than I did.” Luca tramped away, muttering expletives.

  Lorenzo paused outside the door. All his life he had resented Luca, who seemed to get all the adulation and praise. It seemed as if Luca was born under a lucky star, succeeding at all he attempted. For once, Luca was fighting to help him get what he wanted.

  If Luca, with all his confidence and forthright manner could not convince their father to change his mind, what hope was there for him? Perhaps as one farmer talking to another, he might succeed where his brother failed. He shook the thought from his mind. However, if he did not attempt to sway his father, he would lose his true love.

  To try now, while his father was angry, would be foolish. He must wait, let his father’s temper cool, and prepare well for the confrontation. Only then did he have a chance of swaying his stubborn parent.

  43

  The sweltering summer night kept Olivia from sleep. She plumped her pillow, and tried to settle, but could find no restful position. Longing for a touch of coolness, she rose to peer outside. Not even a breeze stirred as she stood at the window.

  From between the branches of the tree outside her window, a half-moon shed a dim light. Several strong branches brushed against the wall below her. The tree’s other limbs stretched over the abbey wall, beyond which a hearty stream fed into a large pond. Sometimes at night, when everyone slept, she crept out of her room to swim, a secret she kept strictly to herself. The water was only neck-high at its deepest point, so it was perfectly safe to swim alone, though the sisters would never approve. She rejoiced in the clandestine freedom, and tonight, more than ever, the cool water beckoned.

  To make certain the sisters all slept, she placed her ear against her cell’s door and listened. Not even a footstep, cough, or murmured prayer could be heard. Satisfied, she hastened back to her bed and retrieved her slippers. She tucked them into her bodice then tightened the ribbon at her waist to keep them taut.

  Bracing her hands on the sill, she pulled herself up to sit on it, and then swung around to dangle both legs over the edge. Carefully, she set first one foot, and then the other, on a thick branch, its rough bark harsh against her bare feet. Steadying herself, she reached for an overhead limb. Once she gained her balance, she stepped lightly from branch to branch until she stood on the boughs that hung above the abbey wall.

  Cautiously, she sat and stretched her legs until her toes grazed the wall, then releasing her grip, let herself drop onto it. From there it was one leap onto a nearby boulder and one more to bring her safel
y to the ground. With both feet now solidly on the grass, she wiped away little leaves and bits of wood caught in her gown and put on her slippers. After a backward glance at the abbey to make certain no one stirred, she half trotted, half skipped down the short wooded path to the lake.

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  It was the night before the horse races in Sant’Andrea Montecchio . Luca had chosen to spend it in his competitor’s pavilion rather than at his home in neighboring Costalpino. The heat was unbearable, making him anxious and keeping him from a necessary good night’s sleep on the eve of a horse race. Maybe a change of scenery would help, so he rose and made his way to the nearby pond.

  When he reached his destination, he glanced about. It seemed as if the entire world slept. A nightingale sang a melodic song, intermingled with the chirp of crickets. Thick brush and a scattering of trees surrounded the secluded lake. At one end, a gentle cascade of water, fed from a nearby stream, trickled over a cluster of large rocks. Across, on the opposite shore, loomed an ancient abbey encircled by a stone wall. The idyllic scene evoked memories of his boyhood when he and Lorenzo had frolicked in ponds or streams on hot days.

  Luca stripped off his clothes and waded into the cool water. He plunged in, fully submerged himself, and then rose to the surface. Shaking the water from his hair, he began to swim. Each stroke invigorated him as he glided through the still water, enjoying the steady bend of his arms and the kick of his legs as they propelled him forward. A large boulder jutted out from the pond’s center. Even at its most center point, the water only reached his chest. He swam steadily to the rock, and pulled himself onto it.

  Rays from the half-moon shone upon the tranquil lake. His eyes roamed over the darkened vista. He sat for some time, enjoying the cool tranquil night, the water slowly evaporating from his skin.

  From the corner of his eye, he caught a movement on the opposite shore. A young woman stepped out from behind some bushes wearing only a thin white night-gown. He watched as she walked gracefully to the water’s edge. He saw her glance nervously over her shoulder at the abbey. Thankfully, she did not look toward the center of the pond; otherwise, she might have seen him, motionless, holding his breath, seated on the rock. What would a young woman be doing at the pond in the dead of night? His curiosity aroused, he watched her every move. His heart raced when she slid the gown down her body and stepped out of it. He sucked in a breath. Her beauty, beneath the moon’s gentle illumination was a glorious vision.

  He could not glance away. From his perch, he took in her curvaceous figure as she waded gracefully into the water. A toss of her head sent her long hair swinging. When the water reached her waist, she slid fully in and swam towards the very rock upon which he sat.

  Merda! What should he do now? He suddenly felt guilty for watching her. It would be disastrous if she discovered him there. Silently, he slipped back into the water and hid behind the rock. He heard the gentle splash of her arms and legs as she swam steadily toward him. Careful to remain undetected, he craned his neck around the rock to check on her progress.

  Soon, she arrived and grasped the boulder with her left hand. Her hair floated about her as she sculled the rippling water with her right arm. When she caught her breath, she positioned both hands on the rock’s protruding shelf and climbed up onto it.

  Luca sank deeper into the water. He remained as still as possible.

  The young woman squeezed the water from her hair. She stood still for a moment, as if inviting the sultry night air to dry her, and then sat in magnificent nakedness to stare out over the glistening water. She had looked beautiful to him from a distance, but now he could see her exquisite profile clearly. A flood of desire swept through him, and he could scarcely breathe in the shadow of her innocent perfection.

  Luca’s hand accidentally brushed against something wet and slimy. Jerking his hand back, he inadvertently caused a splash. A startled frog, perturbed at having his hiding place disturbed, scolded him with a croak, and fled. He flicked his gaze to the woman, but the sounds had drawn her attention, and he saw her tense. Luca bit back a curse.

  “Who is there?” she called out, her arms failing in their attempt to cover her bareness.

  Luca remained low in the water, motionless. If he revealed himself, it would shame her, and he did not want to cause her any embarrassment. For her sake, he held his breath and prayed for her not to discover him.

  He watched as she prepared to dive back into the water, but her foot slipped against the wet boulder. For a brief second, she struggled to maintain her balance, but ultimately tumbled headfirst back into the water, a mere arm’s length away from him. When her flailing leg accidentally struck his, she seemed to flounder and thrashed about vigorously.

  Afraid for her safety, Luca reached for her, wrapped his hands around her waist, and yanked her to the surface. She came up kicking, pummeling, and gasping for air.

  “Farabutto! Scoundrel!” she sputtered.

  “Perdonami,” he said, releasing his grip. “I’m sorry, I meant no harm.” Although he tried hard not to, he could not help noticing her breasts, visible beneath the water’s surface. When she observed where his eyes lingered, her right hand flew out from the water and struck him hard across his cheek.

  As she prepared to strike again, he grabbed her hand.

  With the fingernails of her free hand, she raked his cheek.

  In defense, he grabbed that hand, too. To his amazement, even though he now grasped both her wrists, she continued to struggle. Water splashed as she tried to pull away. He felt her feet slip against the moss covered rocks upon which they stood. Her head went under and he pulled her up. She came up spluttering.

  “There is no cause to be afraid.” Luca waited for her to stop wriggling, his hold upon her gentle, but unrelenting. He did not want to let her go until he had a chance to explain himself, make amends somehow for embarrassing her.

  After a few moments, she stopped struggling. Anger and contempt thrived in her expression and her chest heaved as she gasped for breath. In an apparent attempt to preserve whatever dignity remained, she raised her chin and haughtily returned his look.

  Her spirit impressed him beyond measure.

  “Let me go or I’ll scream!”

  In spite of her tone, her voice reminded him of tolling church bells on a sleepy morning.

  “I have no intentions of hurting you. You are perfectly safe with me.”

  Time seemed to stand still as they stared at each other – her eyes blazed with fury – his, he knew, were filled with fascination. Again, her courage and strength of mind enthralled him.

  “Let me go!” she demanded as she tried to pull her wrist from his hold.

  “I will if you promise not to slap me again.” He knew she had drawn blood when she scraped his face.

  She nodded and Luca released her.

  Immediately, she folded her arms across her bare breasts.

  “I suppose it would be too much to ask your name,” he asked nervously.

  Her eyes flashed with outrage.

  What had made him say such a thing? He should have turned away for the sake of her modesty, or he should have said or done something more to make her feel safe. Instead, he was nervous and awkward in her presence, and had spoken the words thoughtlessly. Luca sympathized with her vulnerable state and was about to apologize again when she kneed him hard in the groin.

  Then she thrust her body back, kicking her legs desperately to swim away.

  Pain tore his breath away. Seconds passed before he managed a groan. As the sting subsided, so did any feelings of sympathy. He swam after her, grabbed her foot, and pulled her to him. She sank under the water before she came back up coughing and sputtering.

  “Bestia! You brute! Don’t you dare touch me!” she snarled, struggling to set herself free.

  In a deliberate, mollifying tone, he said, “You are wrong, cara. You struck me. I am no brute. I only meant to help you.”

  “A good man would not spy on a woman or treat her s
o callously.” She prepared to hit him again.

  He grabbed her hand before it could land on his cheek and pulled her closer to him. She showed no fear. Her fearless spirit aroused him. Instinctively, he pulled her to his chest and before he could stop himself, he kissed her gently.

  At first, she tensed, but then to his astonishment, her body relaxed. Just as quickly, she recovered. Indignant, she pressed her palms against his chest and pushed him away. With gusto, she raised her arm and slapped his other cheek.

  “That one, I deserved.” Luca spoke calmly to appease her, perhaps to even redeem himself. “I am sorry. I should not have done that. I don’t know what came over me.”

  His words seemed to disarm her, for she opened her mouth to respond, but quickly closed it again.

  “Please, allow me to escort you to shore.” As soon as he made the offer, he realized it was the wrong thing to say, yet again.

  “Go drown yourself, you, you…” She stopped as if sensing the futility of her protest. In a softer voice, she then said, “Just let me go. Leave me alone.”

  Luca looked down at her stormy face and released her.

  In an instant, she turned and swam away.

  Luca watched her. Never had a woman captivated him to this extent, stirring a primal need to come to know her a little more – a need he knew would not be easily denied. He could not turn away from the sight of the spirited beauty. She reached the shore, rose from the water, and quickly glanced behind her one last time then grabbed her garment, wrapping it hastily around her. Then she ran into the brush and disappeared. The encounter left him disconcerted, but keen beyond words. Visions of her lithe body against the moonlight and her fiery, courageous spirit, burned in his mind. He must learn more about her. Tomorrow, he would find out who the spirited beauty was.

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