Bella Donna

by Margrett Dawson

  “I can’t risk it, Lady Emma. You would betray me.”

  “And if I gave you my word?”

  He shook his head. “Believe me, I am not anxious to take extra baggage. But even if I could trust you, I don’t trust the police.”

  “This is outrageous.”

  “They would get information from you, one way or another.” He handed her a pair of shoes with a wooden sole and leather straps. “For your feet.”

  Before she could protest further, the door flew open and the taller of Enrico’s sons rushed into the room, letting out a stream of words. Marco uttered a short, sharp expletive in response and ran through the doorway. Hoping that whatever the man had told Marco was important enough to distract him for few moments, she thrust her feet into the wooden clogs and hurried after him. Stay with Enrico’s sons indeed! Despite what he said, she was sure she could slip away and find someone in authority.

  She edged quietly through the doorway, and quickly stepped out of the beam of light from the room behind her, but her movement drew the attention of one of four men standing in a ring, talking with Marco. He raised his voice in sharp warning and the others turned to look at her, muttering ominously. Her heart sank. There was no hope of flight. Two horses and two mules stood waiting, great bulging sacks strapped to their backs. She could sense the hostility in the air and hesitated on the rough cobbles of the yard.

  Marco glanced at her, then spoke to them in dialect, a note of authority in his voice. Three of the men nodded, but one spoke up, obviously protesting.

  “Noè vero.” Marco brandished a piece of rope and a cloth and turned to Emma. He covered the distance between them in three swift strides.

  Before she could react, his arms went around her and she struggled in his powerful grip. “What the hell are they saying? What are you doing?” she hissed.

  “We received a warning. The garrison is on the move. They will be here at daybreak. The men don’t want to take you with us.”

  “Then let me go. I can deal with a few country policemen.”

  “This is not your peaceful English countryside, Lady Emma. I cannot leave you, nor let you put us at risk. My men think you will betray us by making a noise, or trying to run if you are free to do so.”

  “Bloody right I would.”

  “Exactly. I had to agree to this-” As he spoke, he wound the rope around her waist and attached the free end to his belt. “Forgive me, bella donna,” he said, and bound the cloth around her mouth.

  The men watched and nodded their heads. “Va bene,” she heard.

  Gagged and tied to Marco, seething with inward fury, she had to follow as the small procession left the yard in the gray light of dawn and took the steep, stony path leading up into the hills. Marco led a mule and three of the men and animals went ahead, one followed. She supposed he was a lookout, covering their rear.

  The pack animals picked their path around the scrub and cairns of stones. The sun was not yet over the horizon and the air was cool, making her glad of the shawl. Her instinct was to tear the gag from her mouth since Marco had left her hands free. But what was the point? She would never be able to untie the rope around her waist before they grabbed her again and maybe bound her hands too.

  She wrapped the shawl more tightly around her and concentrated on keeping her footing. Everything shimmered in shades of silver and black. The sun behind the ridge of hills tinted the peaks with a line of pale light, but only made the western side darker. The shapes of the animals were a deeper gray against the slate color of the rocks, and she heard the faint gasps of the men as they climbed alongside them. It was hard to believe this was the same coastline with its bright greens and reds she had seen in full daylight.

  In less than five minutes she glimpsed a smooth path leading off to the right. It followed the contour of the slope, winding upward in easy stages. She turned her feet toward it, only to be brought up short as Marco continued in a straight line. She stumbled as the rope jerked her toward him and he caught her in his arms. When she felt his body against hers, the same thing happened as when he’d touched her naked back. Her heart almost stopped, her breath seized up, and her knees felt weak. She stiffened in resistance, unwilling to recognize the sudden increase in the rhythm of her breathing, refusing to give in to the urge to mold her body to his, to feel again the strength of his chest.

  He spoke against her ear, brushing her cheek with his lips, setting her pulse to racing. “That path leads us to certain discovery. Stay close to me.”

  It seemed to her that he hesitated a moment as she leaned against him before he steadied her and continued behind the pack train. She had no choice but to follow, seething with anger at her helplessness, at his stubbornness and at the undeniable sexual pull he had over her. That bothered her the most. She’d known he wanted her from the moment he’d set eyes on her, and she’d planned to use that desire to her advantage. But her own reactions were causing her a problem. This was not the way she did it. Even when she’d played the weekend games at the elegant country homes back in England, she was the one who set the pace, she decided when to kiss, how to seduce. She was used to playing a man like a fish, leaving her deepest emotions untouched. For once, she might have met her match.

  There seemed to be no discernable path, and they climbed in a direct line. The men strode ahead at a steady gait, obviously accustomed to negotiating the ascent, but soon she found herself scrambling on all fours as the scree slipped and rolled beneath her feet. Her leg muscles screamed in protest at the strain. Marco took her arm to help a couple of times, but she shook him off impatiently. The less touching the better for now.

  They climbed in silence until the man in the lead raised a hand and they halted. The sound of an engine came from the left. Quickly the men led the animals deep into a clump of bushes and Marco grabbed her arm. He pulled her hard against him and clamped his other hand over her mouth. Instinctively she stiffened and resisted until she lifted her eyes and saw the grim expression on his face. The mute appeal in his gaze spoke more than words. He desperately needed her to cooperate and he feared the outcome if she drew attention to them. The fate of these men and their leader rested in her hands.

  Her eyes locked on his, she relaxed and nodded, allowing him to lead her after the men. In the thicket they listened, not daring to breathe as the vehicle grew closer. They peered through the network of branches until a few minutes later an open lorry lumbered past, armed soldiers standing in the back.

  As the rumble of the engine faded to their right, the men relaxed their hold on the muzzles of the animals and Marco let her go. She stood for a moment close against him, the fleeting moment of empathy soon over. With a quiet word to the men, Marco took up his position in the procession and they set off across the wide track where the lorry had passed, to resume the climb.

  Unable to speak, she forced her thoughts into some kind of order. Marco and his band were in hiding, wanted by the police. Ergo, they were criminals. She could easily believe that Enrico and his sons might find themselves on the wrong side of the law. And the men with them now were rough-looking and surly. But Marco was apparently a doctor. She hadn’t had much to do with doctors back in London. A broken arm after riding too hard in a point to point, the usual childhood things like measles. The doctors she’d seen were cool and clinical or gruff and grandfatherly. She couldn’t imagine any of them leading a band of brigands. So what had he done that made him a wanted man?

  He didn’t seem violent or cruel. He’d brought her clothes and food and looked at her with those hot eyes that made her stomach clench in response. She feared the attack on her senses much more than any threat to her body.

  He’d mentioned the Blackshirts. She knew who they were, thanks to two or three lectures from Johnny Westmarland and some other smooth-talking man from MI5 a year ago. It had been useless to protest that she had no political opinions whatsoever, that she’d only been in Lady Ellersby’s circle simply because she liked going to bed with different men.
To hear them go on about it all, anyone would have thought she’d been ready to sell the Crown jewels. But the attack on Johnny and his fiancée Gillian and the subsequent fuss and bother had given her a good fright and she’d had to swear off men and casual couplings. One day she supposed she’d get married when Daddy insisted. So here she was, as chaste as a nun for the last few months, and contemplating bedding this very unsuitable man who’d tied her up, ravished her with his gaze and was bearing her off to God knows where.

  One thing she knew-if Marco was fighting the Blackshirts and Mussolini’s government, the less she knew about it the better. And the less Marco knew about her accidental involvement with the Fascist sympathizers in Britain, the better too.

  Gradually the sun rose above the hills, bringing color and life to the surroundings. At first they had passed through ancient terraces on the dry hills, where men had cultivated vines and fruits for centuries, but Emma was in no mood to appreciate the stark beauty around her. Scuttling and panting, she fought her way beside Marco. Twice he stopped at the top of a particularly steep rise and offered his hand. The first time she refused and slid back several feet in payment for her stubborn independence. The second time she gave her hand and he pulled her up until she topped the slope, landing hard against him. The aromas of thyme and flowering bushes rose around them and she caught the scent of him, of male sweat and leather, as he took hold of her. His arms gripped her, his face inches from her mouth.

  She looked up into his eyes and locked her gaze with his. Keeping her still clamped against him with one hard arm, he pulled the gag from her mouth and instinctively she moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. After a long moment, he took the bandana from around his neck and brushed the drops of moisture from her brow. Her breath caught in her throat and she closed her eyes. The pack animals and their drivers had disappeared behind a wall of rock. She and Marco were alone in the world, under the warmth of the morning sun. A faint breeze ruffled her skirt, pressing the fabric against her legs. He held her so tightly she felt his erection against her mound. She had no underwear. Marco knew that. At the thought, moisture oozed between her legs. Her breath came in gasps, and her heart thundered in her chest.

  Oh, God, she thought. This might be where I lose control.

  She met his eyes again and a warm wave rippled through her at the heat in his gaze. What was it about this man that made her want to do things she had vowed never to do again? She swallowed hard, unable to move away, struggling against the urge to bury her hands in his hair and drag his lips down to meet hers.

  What harm had there ever been in one kiss? It was a good tactic, she thought. Let him kiss her this once and she would be over it. She would use this moment to prove there was no special magic in kissing him, no wild pleasure missing from her life.

  At the same time as a voice urged her on, another told her it was madness.

  Move away. The faint voice of reason sounded in her head, but the fire that smoldered in her belly overcame logic.

  With infinite slowness he bent his face to hers until their lips barely touched. It could not truly be called a kiss. It was as if a feather brushed across her mouth, sending tingles along the sensitive nerve points. She was lost. The wind blew a strand of his long hair across her cheek and made her heart do another flip. Instinctively she reached up, standing on tiptoe. The movement added a little pressure to the joining of their mouths. Still Marco hesitated.

  A tremor coursed through her, compounding her need and her confusion. He stroked her shoulder, trailing his fingers down her arms and she let fall her shawl to snake her arms around the back of his neck. He murmured something against her mouth. She couldn’t tell if he was protesting or asking for more, couldn’t tell if he spoke English or Italian. It didn’t matter. Their bodies were communicating with no words.

  Hot blood engorged her lips, her breasts and the damp folds between her legs. Her nipples ached, begging for his touch. Her vagina yearned, crying tears, longing for him to thrust his long, hard cock deep inside. If there had been a stone to stand on, she would have raised herself on it, to wind her legs around his waist, to open herself, to impale herself on him.

  Her arms rested lightly on his shoulders. Still she waited.

  His breath mingled with hers and yet still he did not truly kiss her. She rubbed her belly against his hardness and tried to move so that his cock pressed between her legs. As if a dam had burst, he groaned and pressed hard on her mouth. As his mouth sank deeper over hers, she forgot to think. She forgot where she was, who he was, where he was taking her. She forgot she was supposed to be able to walk away from this kiss as she’d walked away from a hundred others, sure that she could happily exist without it for the rest of her life.

  All she knew was the hot pressure of his lips on hers, the shape of his mouth that fit hers so perfectly, the taste of crushed flowers and leather that clung to him, inflaming her senses. His lips forced hers to part and his tongue thrust inside, stroking at first as if to test her readiness, then invading, probing. His mouth was all she had imagined. Soft, yet strong and masterful. The invasion of his flickering tongue mimicked the subtle pulsing of every nerve in her body. He pressed harder still, with a rising passion, and she gladly opened to him, sighing as he held her tight. Her breathing quickened as she met his kiss, and gave into her need.

  Her hand eased under his jacket, resting against the softness of his skin, as her fingertips sensed his heartbeat. She broke the kiss, smiled up at him, and resting her head on his shoulder, listened to the pounding of his blood. She would have fallen in a boneless heap had he not held her tight against him.

  At last she seized the back of his head with both hands and pulled him even tighter to her, so that his teeth bruised her lip. At the same time his hands moved to her waist, sliding up her ribs, until his thumbs met the swell of the underside of her breast. He stroked the curve, pressing the rough fabric against her, tracing the line up to her nipples.

  A sudden shout from below made them move apart. The rear guard came into sight, looking up. One of the mule drivers appeared above them, waving. Marco waved back and lifted the water skin in the air, shouting a reply. Emma guessed he was saying they had paused for a drink.

  She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, feeling the tingle where his lips had been. She pulled her shawl around her, taking long, slow breaths to calm her racing heart. “It doesn’t sound as if we need to keep silent any longer,” she said.

  “No, we are safe for the moment. I will not gag you. That way I can look at your mouth and imagine what I would like to do to it. Or what it could do to me.” He took the end of the rope that he had pushed aside when he’d lifted her tunic. “But I’ll keep you by my side.”

  He let her drink and replaced the skin in its holder at his waist, then set off again up the slope, leading her beside him.

  Marco felt the pull of the rope in his hand as he advanced to where his band was waiting, reminding him of the woman he led once again as if on a leash. The tightness in his groin subsided slowly, but he knew it would take only a glance at her to make him hard again. He’d seen her barely clothed and he’d seen her in the shapeless peasant dress. It made no difference. The glimpse of a curve of her breast, a simple glance from her eyes were enough to set his blood racing and start up an ache in his balls.

  He hadn’t been prepared for this. Since Claudia had died he hadn’t even looked at a woman. His soul had room for nothing but thoughts of revenge and hatred. Only to be ambushed by a spoiled, haughty English miss. He couldn’t have chosen worse if he’d tried. He cursed the fate that had brought her to that particular piece of beach at that particular time.

  Merda. She was foreign, she was dangerous, she was arrogant, and all he wanted to do was throw her down and ram himself into her until she begged for more.

  By the time they stopped to rest, the sun was high overhead. They’d climbed above the terraces and penetrated into the rocky hills. The lead drover halted under the shade of
a scrawny tree and looped the reins over a branch.

  Emma felt the tension go out of the rope as Marco let it drop. She stumbled into the sparse shade and sank to the ground. One of the men asked Marco a question and they all drew in a huddle to talk, leaving her unwatched for the first time, but she was too exhausted to think of flight. She eased her wooden shoes off her aching feet and rubbed her toes. How could anyone have made a shoe that was totally inflexible, yet registered every stone on the path?

  A hand thrust a water gourd at her and she looked up to where Marco towered over her. She took the skin and put it to her lips. The water was warm and tasted stale, with a bitter tang. Her throat was so dry she didn’t care.

  Marco sank down beside her and picked up one of her feet. The feel of his fingers on her ankle sent a shiver through her. He noticed the faint movement and paused, his eyes on her face. She grew even warmer under his gaze and felt her body soften, ready to fold against him.

  Without a word, Marco took his bandana and tore it into strips. He bound her feet expertly and quickly. “There,” he said. “That will prevent the chafing.”

  “Thank you. How much farther are you taking me?”

  He took some bread and hard cheese from one of his men. “Another hour will bring us to the caves.” He waved his hand in the direction of a rocky outcrop much higher up. Emma shielded her eyes to follow his direction.

  “Caves? Why are you going to caves? Who on earth are you people?”

  “We have a settlement there. Tonight we will talk. When we are all safe.” He passed her a piece of bread and cheese. “Eat.”

  Emma shook her head. She wouldn’t be able to eat a thing. What in God’s name were these people up to? She wondered if she’d ever see her home and her family again.

  Chapter Three

  The last hour of their trek into the mountains took them over even rougher terrain. The slope grew steeper, compelling the drivers to push and pull the pack animals along the winding track. Clouds blew up in the afternoon and covered the sun. Emma shivered and wrapped the shawl tighter around her shoulders.