His child! Prudenza kept perfectly still, scarcely breathing as she listened.
“We have to trust she will be fine.” Nanino wiped his worried brow.
“Why don’t you try to catch a bit of sleep?” Luca said. “I’ll summon you the moment there is news.”
“Do you think I can sleep at a time like this?”
“You’re right. Then join me downstairs. We can wait this out together.”
Prudenza stepped deeper into the shadows as the two men passed. She waited; time and silence interspersed with the occasional muffled groan.
Next, Prudenza saw Rosina hasten down the corridor, blankets draped over both her arms. In her hands, she held a candelabra and bucket. She hurried inside the bedchamber.
Prudenza tried to step forward to catch a glimpse of who was inside, but before she could see anything, the door closed.
More time passed. Prudenza shivered in the cool dark.
There came a long groan followed by a lengthy silence – then the unmistakable, urgent cry of an infant. Shock kept Prudenza rooted to the spot as she listened to its wails. The woman had given birth in her future son-in-law’s bedchamber. Anger rose up. Without doubt, Giustina’s future happiness lay in jeopardy.
Soon the baby’s cries stopped, soothed, no doubt, by its mother’s breast. Prudenza closed her eyes and allowed her anger to surface. How dare Luca bring his whore into the very house where he expected to live with Giustina! Her daughter would be forced to endure this woman’s presence and, worse yet, that of her husband’s bastard. She would never allow anything to mar her daughter’s future. And that vacca Felicia! Always bragging about her sons when Luca was nothing more than a liar and fornicator.
Her breaths came fast and frenzied as she raced back to her bedchamber. The Venturas might think they had disguised their dark little secret well, but she was no fool. She would take matters into her own hands and bring them all to heel.
87
Unable to sleep for thoughts of Giustina, Lorenzo rose from bed to look out the window. The violent storm of earlier had abated, now replaced by a slight drizzle. Perhaps some cool night air would help clear his head.
Lorenzo donned his robe and made his way outdoors. He crossed the courtyard to the stable and sat in a chair against the wall near the side door. From inside came the occasional nicker and the comforting smell of horse. Sheltered thus beneath the stable’s eaves, he sat for some time, but for once, not even the quiet night and the smell of damp earth soothed his agitation.
As the day of Luca’s and Giustina's wedding drew nearer, slumber eluded Lorenzo. When he did manage to fall asleep, nightmares and restlessness disturbed him, and he ached for Giustina. Without her, his future appeared bleak and hopeless.
Lorenzo glanced up at the sky. The night was cool and dark. Clouds blocked the stars. From the corner of his eye, he caught a gentle light and looked over at the villa. Candlelight burned in Giustina’s room. He watched hopefully. His patience was rewarded when he caught a glimpse of her as she moved past the window, a vision of white in her nightdress.
Unable to tear his gaze away, he waited for another sighting, but it did not come. Instead, the candlelight expired and her room fell into darkness. A villa’s walls and a betrothal stood between him and the woman he loved. He knew he must let her go, for she belonged to his brother, but found he could not. All he could think about was Giustina, and how he longed to hold her.
Long moments passed. He did not know how long he sat there, but he could find no peace. Slowly he rose and re-entered the villa, climbing the stairs to the second storey. Bypassing his own room, he walked steadily to Giustina’s bedchamber. There he paused. His yearning to see her, to touch her, compelled him to set his hand on the door’s latch. The metal felt cool beneath his heated hand. He pressed down and pushed the door slowly open.
A partial moon cast a soft light in the room, highlighting the slender figure that lay beneath a linen sheet. The cloth followed the curves of her body, clinging to her hips and breasts like a faithful lover.
He stood in the doorway, his chest bare beneath his robe. His heart pounded as he took in the sight of her. Leaving the doorway, he strode across the expanse of room, his bare feet silent against the cool tiles. Kneeling carefully beside her, he took the sheet in two fingers and raised it, exposing her body. The transparency of her kirtle revealed the rounded globes of her breasts with their rose-colored nipples.
She stirred, her eyes moving behind her eyelids as if she dreamed. He waited, watching the shift of her legs as they parted slightly. He could not help but wonder about her dreams. Were they of him as his were of her? Did she yearn for him as strongly as he did for her?
Lorenzo dropped the sheet to the floor in a silky pool of white and stared at his beloved. His blood throbbed in his groin, pulsing through his manhood, leaving him hard and aching inside his breeches.
He lay next to her and smoothed her hair from her face with a gentle caress. She murmured in her sleep, and he smiled as he heard his name, plucked from her dreams and spoken in her soft voice. Her body turned towards his, seeking his warmth, his touch. He let her curl next to him, her thigh insinuating itself between his, brushing against his swollen length.
He roused her with his lips, coaxing at first, then clinging and moist. Her lips parted beneath his. His tongue caressed the inside of her mouth, stroked over the hard smooth surface of her teeth before slipping inside. He tasted the depth of her passion, the flavor of her love, felt the heat of her as her lips moved under his. Ending the kiss, he saw her eyes open. Tonight, they gleamed with ardor.
“Lorenzo, I knew you would come.”
“Hush, amore mio,” he whispered as his body moved closer to hers. “Say nothing.”
His lips took hers again, wringing a soft, willing moan from deep within her. His hands roamed her body with avid care, finding every spot that stoked her fires with precision and grace. He caressed the length of her back, his large hand cupping the curve of her bottom then slipping between her parted thighs to find wet heat. With a groan of his own, he explored her quivering flesh, pushing between swollen nether lips to find the delicate entrance to her womb.
She shivered as he pushed one finger inside of her, the muscles of her spongy walls tight around his seeking digit. She moaned as he found her sensitive bud, stroking it with his thumb until she cried out, sweet pleasure flooding her body.
“I love you and want you, Lorenzo,” she moaned.
Dio mio, he could not stop himself. At her words, he swelled all the more inside his breeches, begging for release in the confines of her womanhood. He took her hand, bringing it from his shoulder down to the laces of his breeches. “Release me, Giustina. Set me free to fill you with my love."
Her fingers shook as she untied them. He felt their heat against his flesh, the tremor of her fingers like the beat of butterfly wings against his flesh. He rolled to his back, and she to her knees, she helped rid him of the encumbrance of his breeches.
He could see the desire in her eyes as she studied his body. His mouth found hers. His hands sought her breasts as hers explored the rough texture of his chest. He trailed kisses down her body, from the soft hollow of her throat, to her breasts, gently sucking each hardened rosebud nipple, her back arching, her belly pressing hard against his arousal, moaning. His kisses trailed downwards, over her belly and he rested his hands on the swell of her hips. His lips found her special place, parting it like a flower, his tongue lapping at her sweetness.
As her moans grew more insistent, he raised himself up and looked down into her eyes.
Placing both hands on his cheeks, she kissed him. “Please, Lorenzo. Do not stop. I want you.”
“You are certain,” he asked, breathless.
“With all my heart,” she whispered.
Her words enflamed him, and he let out a moan. He lowered his mouth to hers and gently, carefully entered her. Her initial gasp of pain gradually turned into a little exclamation of ple
asure as he made small, gentle thrusts. It was enough reassurance for him. He tantalized her, teasing, moving slowly, time seeming to stand still. They fit perfectly together, two halves of one whole, moving in perfect rhythm, in a timeless dance that only they knew. He moved slowly at first, and then quickening as their excitement grew, higher, and higher, until their bodies reached the pinnacle.
Hours later, when the first light of dawn peaked over the horizon, he looked down at her as she lay dozing in his arms, beautiful as an angel, and peaceful and innocent as a child. He kissed her cheek, donned his breeches and robe, and quietly left her. For him, this night had not been enough, and he was determined to do something about it.
88
Felicia watched Rosina gather the soiled linens and hurry from the room to summon Luca. She wearily flopped down onto a chair to await her son's arrival.
The young mother looked lovingly down at the infant in her arms and then looked up at her. “Grazie, for your kindness,” she whispered. “Your presence was a blessing from God.”
Felicia smiled. “The true blessing is the son in your arms.” She paused, leaning forward. “For all that we have been through this night; I do not know your name.”
The woman’s eyes widened slightly. “My name is Olivia.”
Olivia. The name suited her somehow, complimenting her wholesome, earthy complexion. “And what is your family’s name?”
A tinge of sadness marred her features as she glanced away briefly before responding. “I do not know, Signora. I am an orphan, raised in an abbey.”
“How do you come to know my son?” The question was direct, but Felicia asked it with utmost gentleness.
Olivia hesitated. She seemed uneasy. “Signore Luca should be the one to tell you.”
Felicia nodded.
At the click of the latch, they both glanced at the door.
Luca strode swiftly into the room, his eyes only for Olivia and the infant cradled in her arms. At her bedside, he gazed down at the infant, his expression one of utter bliss.
Olivia looked at Luca, her face alight.
And in that moment, Felicia clearly understood they loved each other. Myriad questions raced through her mind, but she was unwilling to interrupt this most tender moment.
Luca reached out and stroked the infant's cheek.
Olivia paused to revel in the sight of father and child. “He is your son,” Felicia said at last.
A haunting silence ensued.
Luca closed his eyes briefly and sat down on the bed. “Yes, this is my son, your grandson.”
“What shall we name him?” Olivia asked.
With his index finger, Luca stroked his son’s cheek. “What do you think of the name Giuda? Saint Giuda Thaddeus, the patron saint of lost causes.”
“Giuda,” Olivia said, testing the name on her lips. Then she smiled. “It is perfect.”
As Felicia looked upon her son and his family, her heart ached. The meaning behind the name was not lost to her. With the truth now before her, Felicia experienced a fleeting thrill, but it faded quickly. To love someone beyond reach was a recipe for misery. She looked down at the grandson she had helped bring into the world and her heart filled with love for her flesh and blood. “What are you going to do?”
Luca smiled at Olivia, his eyes never leaving hers as he spoke. “Olivia and the baby will remain under my protection. I love them and will care for them for the rest of their lives.”
Felicia’s heart swelled with pride at his words. “It will not be easy, but I will do all I can to help.”
Sensing their need for privacy, Felicia quietly left the room. A wild array of emotions ran through her: happiness at the birth of her grandson, sadness for his future, and anger at the foolish betrothal that irrevocably bound the wrong son to the wrong woman. Wearily, she made her way down the corridor to her bedchamber. Inside, Enrico’s gentle snores confirmed he was fast asleep. Careful not to awaken him, Felicia took off her slippers and lay down beside him, adjusting the bed-covers around her. Tired as she was, she was too disturbed to sleep, and stared at the ceiling. How had things become so complicated, so hopeless? With all her heart, she wanted to see Luca married to Olivia, but how could it be accomplished? She prayed ardently for the answer.
89
The morning dawned dark and gloomy. As Prudenza took her position at the table for the morning meal, she noticed how subdued everyone seemed. The members of either family barely exchanged a word.
Enrico appeared groggy; his movements slow, probably from the abundance of wine he had imbibed the night before. The inclement weather aggravated Carlo’s malformed leg; he groaned occasionally, shifting in his chair. Nervous, Felicia repeatedly glanced at both sons, a hen cosseting her chicks. Lorenzo reached for a chunk of bread, his furrowed brows betraying his pensive, surly mood. Giustina’s flushed cheeks contrasted with her silence. Prudenza could not help but notice how her daughter avoided looking at Luca, who ate lethargically as if he were a condemned man finishing his last meal. What a miserable lot they were!
Prudenza waited for everyone to finish eating.
Felicia pushed her trencher aside and leaned back in her chair. “I wish to speak with you, Prudenza.”
Prudenza studied her nemesis. Felicia looked pale and tense. What could the prune-faced witch possibly want now? Prudenza gave her a half-hearted smile. She had no intention of wasting time chatting with the shrew, especially now that she had the disaster of Luca’s bastard to deal with. “I'm not sure when,” she huffed. “I have a lot to do to prepare for the wedding.”
Felicia frowned and opened her mouth to argue.
Curious, Prudenza relented a little. “As soon as I can, I’ll seek you out.”
“It is rather important.”
“I can meet with you later this morning, here in the dining hall before the midday meal. It is the best I can do.”
Felicia gave her a frustrated glare, which Prudenza ignored.
With the meal ended, everyone began to leave. The instant Luca rose, Prudenza tugged at his elbow. “I want a private word with you.”
Luca hesitated, and then gave her a nod of assent.
After everyone had left the room, Prudenza rose to latch the doors. Then with the swiftness of a cobra ready to strike her prey, she swung around, anger heating her cheeks. “I am curious. Who is the woman who gave birth to a child in your bedchamber last night?” Prudenza gloated when she saw the color drain from his face. Clearly, she had struck a nerve.
He straightened and looked steadily at her. “She is the widow of a good friend of mine. As he lay dying, I gave him my promise to look after her and the child.”
Prudenza shook her head. “Do not lie to me, Luca. What could she be doing in your room? And to give birth there? You’ll have to do better to convince me.”
“Believe what you will. I have nothing more to say.” He made his way to the door.
“Do not take me for a fool, Luca. You are to be wed in a few days’ time and you have the gall to bring a whore into your home!”
Luca froze then turned swiftly about. His eyes flashed with anger as he stormed towards her, pushing his face close to hers. “Never speak of a guest in my home like that again.”
Prudenza held her stance. “Then I am right. She is your mistress and the child is yours! Do not dare to deny it. It is written all over your guilty face.” She stared at him as if seeing him for the first time. This was not the young boy she had watched grow to manhood. He had changed. “How dare you shame my daughter by harboring your mistress under the same roof? I demand you evict her.”
His face turned scarlet with rage. For a brief moment, she expected him to strike her, but he did not. “You cannot order me to do anything in my own house. I will put no one out. If you do not like it, you may leave. Or better yet, you may nullify my betrothal to your daughter.”
Prudenza sneered. “I am sure that is exactly what you want. No, I will hold you to your obligation and you will get that woman an
d her child out of this house.”
“You will not tell me what I can and cannot do. I will never turn away a widow and child. Leave if you must, take your daughter with you. I will not take orders from a termagant.”
No one had ever dared speak to her in such a manner. Her wrath boiling, she reached out and slapped him with full force. She raised her hand again to scrape his cheek, but he caught it, gripping it with such force, she winced.
He shoved her hand away in disgust and glared at her with murder in his eyes.
Words lodged in her throat as she struggled to bring her emotions under control. She of all people knew the cost of giving away a child – a lifetime of worry, an eternity of unanswered questions, fear of discovery, the deep buried secret that could ruin her life if exposed. Oh, she knew well what she demanded of him. She had suffered in silence all these years, regretting her actions at times, and at others, proud of her fortitude in protecting her reputation. She could not think of these things now. She cared little about him. Her thoughts were solely to protect Giustina. She had done what had been necessary, and now she would see him, a man, do no less.
“Call me what you will, but you must find another way to care for your whore and bastard. You cannot humiliate Giustina. She is innocent and does not deserve the suffering you will inflict upon her if you persist in keeping them here.”
Prudenza stormed from the room, slamming the door shut. Part way down the corridor she heard the crash of an object hurled at the door behind her.
Prudenza stopped and thought. To remain under Luca's roof in these final days before the wedding would be impossible now. Giustina must not learn of Luca’s woman and child, but Costalpino was too far away to return home. She needed to be close by to oversee the wedding, to keep an eye on Luca and make sure he did as she expected. An idea came to her. She hurried to her room, wrote a brief note to the prioress of the Carmelite Cloister near the Piazza del Campo in Siena, and then went to find Rosina.
Orphan of the Olive Tree - Historical Romance Saga Page 29
