Bernardo turned her away in a half-circle, where his cousin grabbed a thick bible off the altar. He raised an eyebrow as he paged through the book, searching for the right verse. “Are you going to put her down?”
“No.” The small chapel swung back and forth upside down, making her dizzy.
She struck one more fist into the solid muscles of his back. “Enough. This is madness. Listen to Fulvio. I won’t marry you.”
He smacked her ass. “You will.”
Odd, but the way he took command heated her insides and she squirmed, lust rising. She knew he had her best interests at heart but she couldn’t let him go through with this. His life would be over. As eldest son of the Carvajal, he had a future of greatness and he was throwing it all away.
And for what reason? Ever since Cardinal Nardini died, she’d given up hope of marriage. Her great-uncle had thrown everything to the church, including what would’ve been a substantial dowry. Then her mother had put the final nail in her coffin, declaring her illegitimate.
If she’d allowed an occasional day-dream of a wedding, certainly upside down was not it. She would’ve been dressed in splendor in one of Rome’s many beautiful churches, not thrown over a shoulder like a sack of grain in stolen male clothing.
As blood rushed to her head, Bernardo’s cousin spoke the familiar words. When it was time for her to agree, she refused.
Once again, a sharp hand slapped her behind. Not too hard, but firm enough to know he was not about to give in.
“Fine. I agree. But with Fulvio as my witness, I do protest and will do everything in my power to see this farce annulled.” She searched for an escape, almost impossible from this perspective.
As if reading her mind, Bernardo clenched her legs tighter, rubbed her sore behind, and turned forward toward the altar. “You may continue, cousin. She agrees.”
Bernardo said ‘I do’ and set her down only long enough to tie her hands and throw a warm cloak over her. Then they went outside where a sullen and waiting Fulvio helped her onto a horse.
Almost as an afterthought, Lopez exited the estate. He tugged a wool cap down and mounted. “You may need my sword, as well.”
Her new husband nodded his thanks and straddled the horse behind her. Tucking one arm around her waist, they headed out through the dark streets of Rome.
“You shouldn’t have married me.”
“Shush.” He tightened his grip, pulling her closer to his chest.
“I’ve been thinking…”
He leaned forward, warm breath hitting her ear. “That, I have found, is a very dangerous thing.”
Even if wed, she’d not be treated as the village idiot. She jabbed back hard with an elbow. “That’s not true. I escaped from Borgia, did I not?”
She must’ve hit him good for he grunted and tucked her arms such that she could no longer move.
Then he growled out, “You truly are the smartest and yet most naïve woman I’ve ever met. There is no escaping that man. When we get back to Soriano, you will stay in my house in the valley and not show your face. Perhaps never again. I’ll see to it that my guards keep you safe.”
Surly, she muttered, “I thought I might stay with Mia and Pino for now. Until you’ve had time to break the news to your father.”
“You belong to me and I’ll see to our future. You’ve just fought with the devil and won a small battle, but he’s not so easily defeated.” He clicked his tongue, and his horse obeyed, changing to a faster cantor.
Did he expect her to be as malleable as his mount? “I told Borgia if I die, his secrets would become public.”
He scoffed. “What secrets could you possibly know?”
“None. But I said that I had proof which would be pressed into a book and released to the known world if I met an untimely death.”
A whistle through his teeth indicated he didn’t approve. Then after a few miles on the dark road, he slowed his mount and said, “We should sleep for a few hours.”
Fulvio, who’d been silent since Rome, trotted his horse beside them. “I’ll take first watch.”
Bishop Carvajal nodded, “I’ve got the second.”
Nodding a quick thanks at them, Bernardo dismounted and untied her wrists. He rubbed her hands until she had some feeling back and then said, “This is not how I intended to marry you.”
“It’s not too late. We can pretend it never happened. Only the two that ride with us were witnesses.” She tried not to sound too disappointed.
He cursed. “I don’t mean the wedding, I mean these ties. If I leave your hands free, do you promise not to escape?”
“Where would I go?”
“I’m not sure. But when has that ever stopped you?” He laid out his horse’s saddle blanket and covered her with his cloak. “Sleep.”
Wasn’t he going to join her? She waited for the longest time, listening to him speak quietly to Fulvio and his cousin. Finally he settled down a few feet away. Why didn’t he come and have husband relations with her? From his hard lust pressing against her backside for hours she knew that he wanted her.
After what seemed like hours, her body could stand the wait no longer. “Bernardo?”
He stirred.
“Aren’t you going to join with me? As man and wife?” She sounded too needy, and cursed. Weakness was a trait she could ill afford.
No doubt because of her tone, some of the anger left him. “Do you want me?”
“Si. Si.” A twinge shot between her legs, her breasts got heavy, and she dampened for him. For now, for today, he was hers.
Leaves rustled in the dark, then he scooted beside her under the warm wool cloak. Having been in his arms for hours, it felt so right, so good, to have him there again. The globes of her ass fit perfectly into his lower abdomen as it had all day.
He turned her, kissed her, and moaned. “I thought I’d lost you. It made me wild with jealousy. You’ve no idea. I never want to experience that again.”
His tongue thrust in and out of her mouth and she let him take control. But then she needed to feel his skin and his strength so she slipped her hands under his doublet and shirt.
Giving a small growl, he tugged her stolen clothing over her head and devoured her breasts. His abrasive beard rubbed against her chest, making her crazed and his nipping, even more so.
She raised a leg and dug an ankle into the small of his back pulling him as close as humanly possible. Then he cursed and pushed down his hose, his heart thumping with hers.
Almost unable to breathe, she touched her core to his need, igniting a fire she’d never thought possible. When he reached down and touched her, she whimpered as he brought her higher and higher.
At her climax, he pushed into her and covered her scream with his mouth. Then he rocked her into heaven again shouting as he claimed her.
Exhausted, she fell asleep into the sweet smell of his desire.
Chapter 21
The sun was already midway through morning when Bernardo opened his eyes. Stretching, he gently removed Aurelia’s head from his chest and placed her cheek on his bunched up shirt. She moaned in her sleep, turned over, and her knee pressed against his morning erection. If he wasn’t so worried that Borgia followed on their heels, he’d take her again.
Rolling out from under the warm wool, the cold hit him like a brick as he searched for his clothes. He danced on one foot and struggled with his hose.
Watching the moves, Fulvio raised an eyebrow then handed him a clean shirt and vest. A warm hat and cloak followed. “Was she worth it?”
“Heavenly.” He completed dressing, slipped into his boots, and squatted by the fire.
Then Fulvio poured him a cup of a thick bitter drink mixed with goat’s milk and Bernardo drank it down.
It energized immediately. “What’s this called?”
“Some sinful drink from Africa. Cowful? I get it cheap from a trader in Venice.”
“It’s good.”
Fulvio grunted, glanced at Aurelia’s cherub
ic face, and his own softened. “Should I wake her?”
“In a minute. We need to talk. Sit.” Bernardo felt like a new man. He smiled remembering last night’s intimacies.
“I’m listening.” A flat stone by the fire served as chair.
“My father is no doubt going to disown me.” Every possible scenario that played out in Bernardo’s head last night ended with the elder Carvajal shouting and sending him away.
“Where will you go?” Fulvio removed the iron pan from the fire, poked at the meat, and offered him a bite of squirrel.
The greasy meat mixed with wild onion went down hard. “I’m thinking I will hire myself out as a mercenary. We payed those men in Rome quite well.”
“A short life.” His friend and sometimes servant stared at the fire, deep in thought.
In the distance, atop a high hill, his cousin paced. Bernardo would miss them both. “I should be able to keep her well fed and find a small home. I may even take her north, to England. As an outcast I can’t ask for you to stay with me. I want you to promise to serve my father or the eldest of my brothers.”
Fulvio grunted and kicked dirt onto the fire. “I’ll consider it.”
That done, Bernardo knelt beside his wife, kissed her on the forehead, then cheeks, then lips. “Aurelia, angel. You need to wake up.”
She fluttered her eyelashes, squinted at the brightness and stretched long. When she held his gaze and shot him a sly smile, he was undone. He’d give up a thousand inheritances to greet her like this every day.
After giving her a moment to dress and eat, they all rode north along the river’s flood plain. Bernardo pointed out the homes of each of his farmers. Many were outside with their children and waved. He’d miss them all as well.
Too soon they traveled inside the castle walls of Soriano. In the main piazza at the bottom of the town, he stopped, confused. He wracked his brain for the date. A festival? Certainly none he could recall. Yet streamers of bright colored linen cloth hung from every window. Shopkeepers set up booths and tables of wares.
He rode toward the wine merchant, a middle-aged portly man. “What goes on here today? What feast is this?”
The man didn’t look up from placing a long board atop two barrels. “A wedding, my friend. A grand wedding between two noble families.”
“Whose?” Bernardo swallowed hard, suddenly dreading the answer.
He looked up with recognition and eyebrows lifted. “Why, yours Signore Carvajal. The infant has bled. She’s ready to be your wife. I can see by your face that you weren’t aware. Let me be the first to congratulate you. It’s good your cousin the bishop is here, no?”
Aurelia gasped and struggled to be let down.
“Stop. I’ll fix this.” He thanked the man as politely as possible under the circumstances and made his way up the winding streets. Shopkeepers called out to him, some with good wishes, a few with rude comments about the woman in his lap.
Holding her close, he hid her face under his cloak.
How dare his parents plan his wedding while he was away? Anger seethed within his breast as he made his way through the narrow streets. He was no child to be manipulated like this.
He left his horse with the stable master, endured more congratulations, and kept his wife tucked under his arm. He promised he’d never let go of her again and he was a man of his word.
She gazed up at the hanging lanterns and festive cloths. “This is all for your wedding? To Lucella?”
The hurt in her eyes caused his chest to tighten. “I swear I didn’t know.”
When she pursed her lips, he said, “When I was in Rome, I sent word to the majesties in Spain that I wish to wed you. Meanwhile, my father must have done similarly for Lucella. This is not good.”
“I shouldn’t be here. Let me go.” She slid off his horse but it was too late to run.
A dozen of his father’s guards surrounded them with swords out. Never, in his worst nightmares, had he expected such a welcome. He could thrash them all and had done so on many occasions, but to keep Aurelia from harm, he dismounted and lifted his hands in surrender.
With what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze to her hand he said, “Say nothing about our wedding. I’ll come for you as soon as I can.”
Her tears brimmed as Antonio stepped forward and led her away.
Clenching his fists, Bernardo shouted after him, “If even one of her hairs is out of place, I will hold you personally responsible. I’ll draw my sword from your Adam’s apple to your cock. Do you understand my meaning?”
The man turned, paled, and nodded. Then more gently, he led Aurelia by her elbow into the keep.
The rest of his men shuffled, unable to meet his gaze. “Go. Do what you must. Take me to my father.”
Bernardo released his grinding jaw so he could lean over and whisper to his cousin. “Best to wait in the church. You can’t marry me to Lucella if I’m already wed.”
Inside, his father paced in the great hall under a mural with devils falling under a bridge. His hand clenched his sword’s hilt and his round face flamed red with anger. “Son, I’m severely disappointed in you.”
“Sir?” Bernardo glared. How dare he put him in this predicament?
“You come into my town almost missing your own wedding and with your mistress on your lap? Lucella is weeping in her room.” His father pointed up the stairs.
Bernardo rolled his eyes. “Lucella is always weeping. I refuse to marry her. I’ve already sent word to Ferdinand and Isabella that I married Aurelia Nardini.”
His father slapped a hand down upon a trestle table, the legs folded, and it collapsed. A blue pottery carafe teetered and then broke into pieces on the marble floor.
Lightning fast, the elder’s quick fist almost broke Bernardo’s jaw. A second blow followed and he doubled over in pain. Eyes closed, he braced for the next hit while guards held him upright.
“You’ll not eat nor sleep not speak until you agree to marry Lucella. I will annul whatever you’ve done!” His father clamped onto his chin until he opened one eye.
Bernardo had never seen him angrier. Another fist split open his lip and he licked off the blood.
Then as he was dragged out the door, his father said, “Take him to the dungeon and bring me the Nardini whore.”
Chapter 22
Aurelia stared at the ceiling inside Soriano’s great hall. In strange contrast to the wall’s gory battle scenes, another artist had carved cherubs into the molding. They smiled down, blissfully unaware of all mankind’s misfortunes depicted below.
Bernardo’s father strode forward stepping over broken table pieces, pottery shards, and a puddle of wine. His face flushed with ire and his thick dark brows furrowed. “If you weren’t the ward of my good friend, Pierpaolo, I’d tie you between two horses and have you slowly pulled apart.”
Good friend? She almost scoffed out loud. The steward of Soriano might be a magnificent soldier but the man was a political clown.
Before she could share her uncle’s opinion of Borgia and any of his vassals, he wandered away, muttering to himself. “The legacy of her great uncle is still strong in Rome. I can’t have her executed and yet I can’t abide her presence. She’s bewitched my son.”
Eyes ablaze, he suddenly turned and slammed his fist into his palm. “I will not have it!”
The sound echoed off the high walls and Antonio gripped her upper arms when her knees went weak.
Dideco pointed an index finger at her. “When Pierpaolo comes for the wedding, I’ll let him deal with you. But should you ever set foot in Soriano again, I’ll have you whipped in the public square. He glowered just inches from her nose. “Do you understand me, girl?”
Aurelia swallowed hard and nodded, wondering again what’d happened to Bernardo. Why wasn’t he defending her?
The elder’s sword hit the back of her thighs when he swiveled and crossed the room. Looking out the front arch, he continued to argue with himself. “No, no. That’s not nearly enough. Ev
eryone saw her ride into the city upon his horse dressed as a boy.”
With a wave of his hand out toward the piazza, he said to Antonio, “Take her to the church. Have Bishop Carvajal hear her confession. Tell him her penance is to be that of all whores who overstep their position.”
Antonio paled, grabbed her waist, and led her toward the arched doorway.
She paused there, turned, and begged. “But I saved your life, signore. This is how you repay me? I swear, I’ll leave quietly to live in a convent far away.”
Dideco’s lips pursed. “I don’t care where you go. Should you make it to the lower piazza, you become Nardini’s problem.”
Outside, she was taken across the piazza and down the steep slope.
Skipping to keep up with the tall Antonio, she said, “Please. Talk to me. What does he mean? Make it to the piazza? Mother of God. Let go of me.”
What was this penance that everyone feared? She twisted to break free of his iron grasp. When that didn’t work, she kicked impotently and dug in her heels. “Where is Bernardo?”
He frowned and pulled her by the hair. “In the dungeon until he agrees to marry Lucella.”
She moaned at the stinging in her scalp. She was right. Bernardo should never have forced her to marry him.
Rain fell, the street stones grew slick, and she fought to free herself until she had no more breath. But her silent jailer stoically tugged her up the front steps of the old church. Then he threw her into the open hall where a crowd of well-dressed onlookers gawked.
They whispered all too loudly. Bernardo’s mistress. Whore. On his wedding day. Upon his lap.
She wanted to shout out that she was no mistress. She was wife of the steward’s eldest son. Before she could set the town straight, Lopez lifted her to her feet, glowered at Antonio, and led her into the confessional.
Alone, she knelt in the dark and waited for the wood panel to slide aside. Dear God. What will happen now?
His low and pious voice startled her from the other side. “When was your last confession?”
She didn’t understand. How was that going to help her escape? “Last year, during lent, as all good Catholics. Are you going to free me? Free Bernardo?”
The Angel of Soriano: A Renaissance Romance Page 12
