by Speer, Flora
“Oh, yes,” Rosalinda said to herself, “it’s possible.” This was not the first time she had felt sick in the morning. It was just the first time she had actually been sick. Then there was her monthly flux, which hadn’t come upon her since just before Andrea was at the villa at the very end of March. She had thought little of it since she was sometimes irregular. Could it be true that she was carrying Andrea’s child?
The first thing she must do, she decided after a few moments of thought, was to be absolutely certain she was with child. Only time would prove whether she was or not. She recalled her mother saying that by the end of the third month, a woman could be certain, which meant she should be sure in another three or four weeks. Then, once she was sure, she would decide what to do. Andrea might return before then.
The thought of having Andrea’s child made Rosalinda smile. At the same time, she was afraid. Andrea had never actually said that he loved her. She did not doubt that he had wanted her and his words at their last meeting had indicated that he foresaw a future with her, but circumstances could change. Andrea was in danger while on his mission for Eleonora, and Eleonora herself had plans that would surely alter the course of her daughters’ lives. Uncertainty loomed for the future, adding to Rosalinda’s concern.
“There is no reason to be upset right now,” she told herself. “First, I must be sure that what I suspect is actually true. Then, true or not, I will go on from there.”
Her hand stole to her abdomen, as if touch alone could give her the answers she sought. Beneath her fingers a new life might be growing. Despite her fears, a tender smile curved Rosalinda’s lips.
* * * * *
After Valeria had finished her ministrations to his injured leg, Francesco slept through the night and for most of the following day. Vanni, as exhausted as his friend after months of wandering through the mountains, also slept late. It was almost evening again before the two men entered the sitting room to find Rosalinda and Bianca sitting at the round table, working separately on the lessons Eleonora had set for them that day.
“Vanni!” Bianca leapt to her feet, hurrying to Vanni as if she would throw herself into his arms. Restraining herself, she stopped when she was just a foot away from him and smiled into his eyes instead. “Are you quite recovered from your ordeal?”
“I believe I am, sweet Bianca.”
“Would you like to see the garden?” Bianca was all smiles and fluttering eyelashes, ignoring the cautionary glances Rosalinda sent in her direction, ignoring, too, the way Francesco was once again staring at the portrait of Girolamo Farisi.
“You will far outshine any flower there,” Vanni responded to Bianca’s suggestion, “but a walk alone with you will fulfill my fondest hopes for this day.”
Bianca placed her hand in the crook of Vanni’s elbow and went with him through the open door and down the steps from the terrace. He paused to pluck a blossom from the white rosebush and present it to her.
“Here is the symbol of my love for you,” he said. “A love which, for the present, must remain as chaste and pure as this spotless flower and your tender heart, my sweet Bianca.”
“I am not so pure,” she whispered, “as you very well know, Vanni.”
“And now your cheeks are blushing red as this other bush. Shall I pluck a second rose to match your flawless cheeks?”
“No. The red rose is Rosalinda’s bush. Vanni, I cannot stop thinking of you and of what we did together.”
“Nor can I stop thinking of you, sweet Bianca. But I am a guest in your mother’s house. I cannot take unfair advantage of my place here and do all I would like to do. For the present you and I must feast on memories instead of on kisses. Perhaps it’s just as well. I do not think I could hold you as I did beside the waterfall, and restrain myself so well a second time. When next I take you into my arms, I will have all of you, every drop of sweetness you have to offer.”
“Will there be a next time?” she asked, somewhat breathless after listening to his passionate declaration.
“Ah, the future.” Vanni spread his arms wide, as if to embrace the garden, the mountains, and the very sky itself. “Andrea is still alive, which means I will not be forced to take his place. What a relief that is.”
“You love your brother,” Bianca murmured.
“As much as you love your sister. No, more than that, because Andrea and I are identical twins. There is no closer relationship.”
“Not even with the woman you love?”
“Love for a woman is a different thing,” he said. “Andrea is the other half of me. When I feared he was dead, I was half dead myself. But I cannot hold Andrea in my arms all night and kiss him as I want to hold and kiss you, or touch him in the way I once touched you. I assure you, Bianca, he would take a dagger to me if I tried,” Vanni ended on a laugh.
“Then you do care for me?” Bianca whispered.
“With all my heart,” he said. “Never doubt it. I always knew that when the time came for me to love it would be swift and sure, and so it was.”
Inside the sitting room, Rosalinda watched the two standing beside the white rose bush. Only when they began to walk down one of the side paths did she turn her attention to Francesco, who was still standing before her father’s portrait.
“Vanni will do no harm to your sister,” Francesco said as if he could read her thoughts, though he appeared to be fascinated by the painting and did not take his gaze from it when he spoke. Then, very softly, he added, “A fine man, your father.”
“I am not concerned about Vanni,” Rosalinda said. “I am worried about Andrea.”
“Am I correct in believing your mother sent him to perform a task for her?”
“Yes, but you will have to ask her about it. I know only the few details Andrea told me. Actually, his reason for accepting my mother’s commission was because he hoped it would enable him to find Vanni’s murderer.” Rosalinda’s glance sharpened with sudden interest. “What did you mean when you said my father was a fine man? Did you know him?”
“I met him a few times, when I was a young condottiere sent to him with messages from the Duke of Aullia.”
“Federigo Sotani.”
“Don’t say his name with such scorn.” Francesco’s voice was quiet and sad. ‘‘Like your father, he was a decent man and an honest ruler. There are too few of their kind in Italy these days.”
“When did you leave Federigo Sotani’s service?” Rosalinda asked.
“On the day he died,” came the answer.
“Ah, there you are, Signore Francesco.” Eleonora came rustling into the room in a gown of deep blue-green silk that set off her pale hair and blue eyes to perfection. “I trust your leg is healing?”
“Thanks to your kindness,” he said. “Vanni and I can never hope to repay you for your generosity to two strangers.”
“I am certain I will think of a way for you to express your gratitude,” Eleonora told him.
“If you expect more from me than words of thanks,” Francesco said quietly, “then, Madonna Eleonora, you must reveal your family name.”
Rosalinda stared at him. He knew her family name, as his remarks to her proved. Why, then, did he want to hear it from her mother’s lips?
“Such a revelation might prove dangerous to you and Vanni as well as to me and my daughters,” Eleonora said.
“If you prefer to remain unrecognized by those who come to your home, madonna, then you ought not to leave that portrait hanging on your sitting room wall,” Francesco said with a gesture toward the painting.
“In fifteen years, no one has come here whom I did not invite,” said Eleonora.
“Until now.” Still Francesco spoke in that same quiet voice, laden with hints of knowledge and humor.
“Until last winter,” Eleonora corrected him, “when Andrea appeared in the middle of a snowstorm, looking like a giant bear, all covered with ice. He terrified us.”
“Andrea always did appreciate the value of a grand entrance,” Frances
co said. He took a deep breath and went on, “And so, with a brave and intelligent – and no doubt a very grateful – young man at hand, you sent him forth to raise an army of condottieri and use it to take back Monteferro for you. Don’t look so surprised at my accurate guess, Madonna Eleonora. It’s what I would have done in your place. We are much alike, you and I. Both honest souls, forced to deal each day with deceit and intrigue. I would wager there were moments when you hated it as much as I always did.”
“I would wager that you dealt with it very well, indeed, signore.” Eleonora’s voice was sharp.
“And I have heard that you did, too,” Francesco said. “So well, in fact, that when disaster struck, you and your children were able to disappear, leaving all who knew you to wonder where you had gone. Especially those who wanted you and your daughters dead. I learned a valuable lesson from your example, Madonna Eleonora, and recently put that lesson into practice, though I do confess I am too straightforward a man to remain devious for more than an hour or two at a time.”
“Sometimes, an hour is long enough,” Eleonora said. “For myself, I always despised the manipulations and the lack of trust that inevitably accompanies such activities amongst courtiers and their rulers.”
“And yet, you have not refrained from those same activities,” Francesco noted quietly. “You are manipulating Andrea even now.”
“Is Andrea also skilled in deceit?” Eleonora asked.
“When necessary, he will resort to it. But if Andrea has given you his word, he will not cheat or betray you, madonna. You may depend upon him.” Francesco glanced toward the portrait. “Girolamo Farisi has been dead for more than fifteen years.”
“I think of him every day,” Eleonora said in a wistful voice. “I will never forget him.”
“Nor should you. But you were a young woman when he was killed. Even after all these years, you are still a young woman.”
“I do not regret what I have done by hiding here,” she said. “Should the safety of my daughters require it, I would disappear again and stay hidden with them for another fifteen years.”
“Let us hope that will never happen. A mother so loving deserves an end to hiding. And a fair reward for her devotion.”
“You will understand, signore, that I can think of nothing for myself until my final duty to Girolamo is accomplished, until Monteferro is restored to the Farisi, and Bianca is its duchess.”
“I honor your loyalty, Madonna Eleonora. But when your duty is finished, then what will you do?”
“Until yesterday, I had not thought beyond the day when Bianca will ride into Monteferro in triumph.” Eleonora’s face was lifted so she could look directly into Francesco’s eyes, and he was gazing back at her with an intensity that Rosalinda could feel across the room.
“Perhaps you ought to consider the possibilities that will open to you on that happy day,” Francesco said softly.
“Perhaps I should,” Eleonora murmured.
Rosalinda knew they did not notice when she left the sitting room for the terrace. She had not understood half of what Francesco and her mother were saying, but she was absolutely certain that they understood each other perfectly.
A crescent moon was rising over the mountains. Rosalinda picked a bloom from the red rose bush and stood alone in the silvery twilight, inhaling the flower’s sweet perfume and thinking of Andrea. Behind her, in the sitting room, Francesco and her mother talked on, using hints and obscure references to convey what they wanted to say. At the other end of the garden, Bianca and Vanni walked. Rosalinda could just make out their figures in the shadowy evening light.
“And I am alone,” she said to the red rose in her hand. “Where is Andrea? Why doesn’t he come to me? Is it because he cannot come? Or because he does not want to?”
* * * * *
In a clearing beside a lake set in the foothills north of Monteferro, Andrea was meeting with the captains of the army of mercenaries he had raised.
“Some of you were formerly in service to my family,” he said, “and some in service to the Farisi family.”
“We are all of us ready to follow you,” said Domenico Ricci, one of the captains. “Just tell us where we are to go and who we are to fight.”
This bold sentiment was immediately seconded by all of Domenico Ricci’s companions.
“There are still a few captains coming to join us with their men,” Andrea said. “At dawn we are going to move up into the mountains, to wait for them where we won’t be discovered before we are strong enough to make our assault.”
“Where is that assault to be?” asked Domenico Ricci.
“On Monteferro,” Andrea said. “And after that, on Aullia.”
“Two nice prizes,” said Domenico, nodding his approval. Several of the others whistled at the thought of the riches the two cities held. All of the captains looked happy.
“What will you be doing while we wait?” asked Domenico, who seemed to be the spokesman for his fellow captains.
“I shall renew the search for my brother. I received information earlier today that suggests he may still be alive and hiding in the mountains.”
“Now, there’s a fine hope for you,” said Domenico with a broad grin.
“I heard more.” Andrea decided to give them all of his news. It could only lift their spirits higher and keep them waiting in good order until he returned. “There is a rumor that Vanni is with Francesco Bastiani.”
“Bastiani?” The captains had been talking among themselves, but at the mention of that magical name among condottieri they were all eager anticipation.
“That’s the kind of good news we need to keep our men loyal,” said one of them. “No offense to you, my lord, and we all know what a fine leader and brave man you are, but Bastiani has years of experience on you. If he joins us, we can’t lose.”
“It’s my hope, too,” Andrea said. “All I have to do is find him. If he lives, I will bring him back with me. And bring my brother, too.”
And, he thought, but did not speak his other hope aloud, if this new search takes me near enough to Villa Serenita, I may be able to steal a day or two with Rosalinda before I have to go into battle.
Chapter 15
Once again Rosalinda rode out alone, this time after obtaining her mother’s permission. For the last week, normal routine at the villa had been in disarray. Lessons for the sisters had been suspended. Bianca and Vanni were spending their afternoons whispering together in the sitting room or the garden, while Eleonora, Francesco, and Bartolomeo regularly disappeared into Bartolomeo’s office for long discussions. When her mother somewhat distractedly agreed that Rosalinda might ride and when, moreover, she put no limits on where Rosalinda was to go or when she was to return, Eleonora’s daughter knew there were new schemes being hatched behind that closed office door.
The men-at-arms assigned to sentry duty were taking double watches to patrol the boundaries of the land. Perhaps this arrangement gave Eleonora the impression that her daughter would be safe. But with Rosalinda’s knowledge of the various pathways and tracks gained from years of riding in the hills, she had no difficulty in eluding the sentries and escaping into the higher mountains. Rosalinda did not worry about Niccolo Stregone finding her. She did not think he would push so far in his search for Francesco and Vanni, and she was sure she knew the mountain paths better than Stregone did.
She made her way along the familiar path to the old rock-fall. No attempt had been made to repair the path, and during the spring thaw more rocks and earth had fallen away, leaving a wide gap. Rosalinda turned aside, taking another route, urging her horse even higher.
She knew exactly what she was seeking and, with an unerring sense of direction, she found it. In a wide gap between two mountains, a narrow path wound, with steep meadows on either side of the path. At the edge of the meadows, clumps of fir trees grew. During these summer days, which were the longest of the year, the meadow was abloom with delicate wildflowers. Yellow and blue petals fluttered in t
he gentle breeze beside other blossoms of orange or white or several shades of pink. This was one of Rosalinda’s favorite spots.
She drew a happy breath and prepared to dismount, intending to sit for a time among the flowers while she sorted out recent events. Her plans were abruptly changed when she saw that she was not alone in the meadow. A single rider spurred his horse along the path. By his large size, the man was not Niccolo Stregone, nor was he wearing clothing like that of anyone who lived at Villa Serenita. He was obviously a stranger to the area. Fearing the rider might choose the way that led to the rock-fall and the dangerous gap, for that path was the quickest route to the next populated valley, Rosalinda remained on her horse and began to ride toward him, to warn him.
He saw her coming and slowed his pace. Then, with a joyous shout, he increased his speed and rode straight for her. Before she realized what he was going to do, before she had time to react, Rosalinda was snatched out of her saddle and pulled onto the other horse. Strong arms enclosed her, and a firm mouth fastened itself over hers.
“Andrea!” She could barely breathe, so tightly did he hold her.
“I knew it was you. No other woman in these mountains rides astride.”
She could not get close enough to him. She clasped her hands behind his neck, pressed her breasts against his chest, and tried to wriggle herself into a nearer position, but it was a useless attempt.
“We should both get down before you frighten the horses into bolting and we have to limp home after being thrown,” Andrea cautioned. He slid Rosalinda off his mount and onto her feet. An instant later he was standing beside her. “This is a good place to talk privately, unless someone comes along the path.”
Rosalinda did not think talk was what he had in mind, not when his fingers lightly traced the side of her face, not with his hand tangling into the long braid at the back of her neck to move her face nearer to his so he could kiss her forehead.
“We could sit in the shade of those trees over there,” she suggested demurely.
