John banged his fist on the table. “No more talk! Where are the minstrels, sister? Summon them!”
The side tables were cleared for dancing. John led her out first then Signor Marco claimed her. This was not like dancing with a brother. As they parted and met through the measures of the dance, she found herself waiting for his hand in hers, and the touch of his arm on her waist as they twirled their turn down the line of dancers. It was only, she insisted in her heart, because this man danced with a grace she’d seldom encountered.
As the evening wore on, Elisa danced with other partners. Many of her brother’s knights begged her favors, but it was to Signor Marco her eyes kept turning. Wanting to meet his eyes and see his smile and missing the warmth of his hand in hers. How could she miss him? They’d only just met. But in mere days they would be wed and he would have rights of her body and take her away. What was his home Bella Vista like? By name it sounded so alien from Thorncroft. What awaited her there?
The night was long and she was tired and confused and needed time alone, something rare in a castle filled with company.
Chapter Two
Early the next morning, Elisa left the castle by a side gate, taking the path to the lavender meadows. Not fifty paces gone, she turned at a call from behind. Signor Marco approached. No point in running to hide. Lavender bushes would barely hide a rabbit. She’d wanted quiet moments to consider him and now she truly did have to consider him. Consider him keeping her company.
If looks were all, striding across the sheep-clipped grass, he was as fine a manly figure as any she had seen, and she was to marry him. She shivered in the morning sun.
He stopped ten paces away then advanced slowly, a half-smile on his wide mouth. “Lady Elisa,” his voice came strong and clear in the morning air, “I would intrude upon your walk, if you permit.”
If she reached out, she could touch the soft wool of his surcoat. His head inclined as he spoke, and as he raised upright, his eyes met hers. His wide, hopeful smile would be hard to refuse. If she dared. “And if I do not permit, Signor Marco?”
“Then, my lady, I would offer my humble apologies for intruding and entreat you to appoint an occasion when we may talk.” He paused. “For talk we must, Lady Elisa.”
“Why must we? My brother has decreed we will marry in two days, so marry you I will.”
His eyes seemed to deepen. “Lady, did I not tell you last night. We marry only if you will it.”
“You believe that, sir? Can you imagine my brother’s humor if I spurned you?” She shivered at the thought of John’s ire. She’d as well take to the forest with the beggars and wanderers as to refuse.
A frown shadowed Signor Marco’s thoughtful face. “Lady, rest assured. I will convince your brother I am the one refusing.” He held up a long-fingered hand at her gasp of dismay. “I will tell him, I believe your health is not strong enough to endure our southern climate.” He smiled. “Sir John swore himself to hell and back over the heat of the desert, he will believe me. Although, trust me, even the hottest days of our summers are nowhere near as harsh as the blistering heat of the deserts.” Signor Marco paused again. “Your refusal will not compromise you in any way, I give you my word.”
Not quite understanding why, she accepted his assurance. “Why does it matter what I wish?”
“Walk with me, Lady Elisa, and I will tell you.” He offered his hand.
His skin was warm, his palm callused. Under the skin, she felt the strength of a hand that had wielded a sword, killed and fought, and saved her brother’s life. Her fingers closed over his. “You have beautiful hands, lady, and your nails are pale and smooth as pearls.”
“You flatter me, signor.” As he flattered her old nurse’s salve of lanolin and rose petals. “Do you mind gathering lavender? We have need of it for the still room.”
“We can gather the entire hillside, if you wish. If you will talk while we do so.” He took the basket. “Allow me, lady.”
She was happy to. As unlike the men she’d grown up with as sweet mead from rough ale, Signor Marco fascinated her, and his insistence that she marry him willingly intrigued her. Why did he just not take her and her dowry as Edwin had been more than content to? She handed the signor a handful of lavender stalks, and as his fingers brushed hers, she looked up at him. His eyes were dark as sable fur, and yet in their depth she saw honor and trust—and a wariness at odds with his confidence.
“There is something about me you must know first, lady.” Elisa nodded, her mind charging through wild possibilities. “I am baseborn, a bastard.”
Was that all? By his tone, she’d half-expected him to admit to being a leper or having a lizard’s tail. “Why should that be held to your shame?”
He eyed her as if still unsure. “Many consider it so.”
“They do,” she agreed, “but to hold you in scorn for that, would mean I scorned my father and brother.”
His eyes widened. “Why, lady? They are not baseborn.”
“No, but both have put a few bastards on this earth.”
“Lady, the world oft scorns a bastard but not the man who makes one.”
“Does that mean the world is right? To be born is not a sin but adultery and fornication are.” Signor Marco seemed shocked at her words. True, it was not seemly to talk of sin and even less seemly for a maid to mention sins of the flesh, but… Still uncertain of the meaning of the stare he gave her, she bent to pick more lavender. “You thought I would scorn you as a husband because of your bastardy? My brother considers you honorable. You proved your valor in saving his life. How could I consider you less?” She handed him a bundle of fresh stalks.
“You mean this from your heart, lady?”
“I do not speak unless I mean it, sir.” His fingers closed over hers, and her throat tightened as she looked up at him. “I will never scorn you, signor, and if any in my brother’s house so insults you, you will have recompense and satisfaction.”
“You would fight for me, lady?” he asked, a tight smile curving one side of his mouth.
“I would fight in the ways a woman can for the honor of my house and my family and for yours,” she paused, “if you so choose.”
“No, lady, when you so choose.”
“I see it’s ‘when’, not ‘if’, signor.” She eased her hand from his and placed the stalks in the basket. “I meet your approval, at least in some measure.”
“Lady, my approval is assured.” His voice sent a warm thrill through her. “Now I strive to meet your approval.”
“Why does it matter so much?”
“I have no desire to spend my life with a woman who dislikes me.”
“I do not dislike you, signor.”
His look suggested he only half believed her. “Then call me Marco as my family does.”
“If you wish, Marco.” Without his title, his name rolled strange on her tongue, but it fitted him. He was unlike any man she’d ever known standing among the scented bushes. “Marco,” she repeated, her heart skittering inside her ribs as he raised her hand to his lips and trailed his warm, wet tongue across her knuckles before kissing the bend of her wrist. Her heartbeat raced as she met his questioning eyes. The way his mouth curled in response sent a wild thrill down her spine.
She should pull her hand away. This was most improper, she felt certain, but she could no more remove her hand, or hold back her smile, than fly. He half released her fingers, but her disappointment soon warmed into expectation as he gently kissed her upturned palm. “Lady,” he said, his voice tight and hoarse.
“Should I not be Elisa?”
“E…lis…a,” he pulled her name out, giving the syllables a softness she’d never heard from anyone else’s lips. “My Elisa.” Her throat tightened as if choking on the sweetest honey and her body bathed in the heat from his eyes. He closed her fingers over her palm as if to hold his kiss from the world. “We had better walk some more,” he said. “Lady, you are the sweetest temptation.”
The lavend
er stalks seemed tougher and harder to cut, but she found the strength. “Tell me about your home, Marco?” Elisa asked, knowing she should put distance between them but wanting to stay close.
“Bella Vista?” His pride showed in his eyes. “It merits the name, or will. It is close to a ruin now. The estate was a gift from my father’s wife.” At Elisa’s intake of breath, he squeezed her hand. “She believed, as you do, that bastards are not responsible for their illegitimacy and gave me the land and sufficient estate to support a wife.”
“And you would have me as that wife?” Elisa stepped closer without realizing. Through the wash-softened linen of her robe, his leg brushed hers. She should draw back but would not. “Do I please you?”
She heard rather than saw the basket drop with a soft thud. A strong, gentle hand eased up her neck to cup the back of her head. Instinctively, she lifted her face and watched his eyes darken. Her lips parted but not to speak. Her breath caught as he lowered his face, and as his lips brushed hers, a wild rushing in her ears drowned out all thought. All she wanted was to feel. She took a half step closer, his warmth covering her from breast to knees as his mouth claimed hers. She tasted excitement and heat and male ardor. Somewhere deep inside her mind, she heard an excited whimper, but all she really knew was his mouth on her lips and the touch of his hands on her hips. The heat and the strength of him spurred her need as she pressed closer.
Finally, they parted, both panting, the sweat beading on his brow and his eyes dark as an undiscovered cavern. Elisa felt her chest rise and fall as if from running or hard riding. “Marco!” she managed between gasps.
“My dearest, my Elisa.” His words were as forced and breathless as hers. “Oh my love.” His arms closed around her, but as she relaxed into him, the sound of children calling halted her.
They turned together, his hand still round her shoulders, and watched. Seemed every unoccupied child in the castle was advancing on the lavender meadows, armed with baskets.
“God’s teeth,” Marco muttered.
“No doubt someone decided we have dallied here alone far too long,” Elisa replied, striving her utmost to conceal her annoyance.
“Mayhap we have dallied too long. I am awash with temptation.”
Was that what it was? This strange and heated need she felt in her bones, under her skin, inside her mind, whirling her very soul. “We must go.”
He nodded and retrieved the basket, gathering up the spilled stalks before walking beside her up the hill.
“You never did tell me about Bella Vista,” she said.
“I will, my lady, and soon,” he promised. The gate stood open, waiting for them. “Will you grant me a favor?”
“If I can. What do you wish?”
“At the feasting tonight, wear the gift I will send to your room.”
“If my brother so permits.”
“He will permit.”
She didn’t doubt it. “I will wear your gift, Marco. With pride.”
Chapter Three
“It is indeed lovely, my lady,” Marjorie and the handmaid Anne exclaimed as Elisa untied the velvet package to reveal Marco’s gift. The pendant of pearls hung on a fine golden chain. The deep luster contrasted with the dark green of her robe and the creamy pearls warmed at her touch as she rolled them between her fingers. It was a rich gift and pleased her, but not as much as that kiss on the hillside. Pearls were truly a gift of love. She had the pearls her father gave her mother as a wedding gift. They were fine, and wearing them brought her parents’ memory alive, but looking at Marco’s, it was no contest which Elisa preferred. Elisa stood. Time to meet John and Marco in the parlor.
John’s dogs were there, sleeping among the rushes, in the narrow pool of sunshine on the scrubbed floor, but her brother was not. Elisa’s throat tightened as Marco rose from a seat by the window.
“Lady Elisa,” he said, crossing the room. “You wear my pearls.”
Elisa was suddenly aware of the weight nestling against her breasts. “How could I not? It is a gift a queen would be proud to wear. They are truly beautiful.”
“But were not one tenth as beautiful until you wore them, my lady. The Arabs say that pearls take on the beauty of the wearer.”
“Maybe they carry the honor of the giver too.”
He smiled. “That I have not heard, but if you so declare, how can I not believe?”
“Are we flirting, Marco?”
“Yes, lady, we are.” His chuckle was warm as the sunshine by her feet. “Will you run to your brother and object?”
“Since he has no doubt seen to it that we are alone, why would I? Besides, you never finished telling me about Belle Vista or why you so demand my agreement.”
He led her to the seat by the window, the cushions were still warm. He was close enough to touch. She clasped her hands in her lap.
“Belle Vista is halfway to a ruin, but with my spoils from war, I will rebuild. There are three vineyards, neglected but only needing work, orchards and acres of fine meadows to raise my Arabs and breed them with the local stock. The dark soil will grow most things with a little care and careful husbandry.”
“Will it grow lavender?” she asked, remembering their walk and their embrace that morning.
“Hillsides of it, if you wish, Elisa, and we can stroll among the scented bushes together and undisturbed.”
“Marco, you are well on the way to convincing me.”
“I have two more days, Elisa. And I would see into your heart.”
“I have no secrets in my heart.” The setting sun through the embrasure made a golden aura ’round his head and shoulders. Her breath caught. This man would be her husband. The prospect no longer disturbed her. “Tell me why my agreement is so important?”
“My father’s legitimate daughter was married as he willed. Annette is unhappy beyond words. My once laughing sister seldom as much as smiles, and her life is one long sadness. Her husband had already taken a mistress and produced a bastard before I left for the wars, and they’d only been married three years.
“At Lady Jeanne’s insistence, my two fellow bastard half sisters were allowed to choose their own mates. One married the youngest son of a lesser knight, the other a merchant in the town, but both seem happy with their husbands, for it was their choice.
“My father and Lady Jeanne married as part of an alliance to join two great estates. Lady Jeanne spends her life in prayer and doing good works, my father, hunting, drinking and wenching. Their lives were separate and they are both very alone and lonely. I want more.”
“How much more?”
“A wife who welcomes my touch and comes to me gladly. Who bears my children out of joy, not obligation or duty.”
And she could be that wife. Elisa stood, turning so she faced him, offering her hand. “I have welcomed your touch and your lips, Marco.”
He took her hand and pulled her so she stood between his legs. “There is more to marriage than kisses, Elisa.”
“I do know that!” She had to smile.
His hands rested on her hips, easing her closer to him. “I would have all of you, my sweetest lady. To love and hold.”
“And I would love you with my heart and body, Marco.”
His arms snagged around her waist, lifting her so she sat across his thighs. He smelled of man and fresh air, the smile on his lips sent her mind back to the kiss on the hillside and then his mouth met hers and she didn’t think anymore. She felt.
His lips eased hers apart until their breaths mingled, his tongue met hers and sensation flared like the white light of a comet in the sky. She pressed into him, curving her body against his, wanting to feel more, needing him to consume her. She returned his invasion, touch for touch, thrust for thrust. Her mind spiraled in a wild vortex and her heart raced under the warm palm that pressed upon her breast.
It was as if she’d never felt before, never sensed, never been aware. Now her whole being flooded with feeling. As his fingers closed around her breast, a wild streak o
f joy rushed deep between her legs. She cried out in surprise, but the sound was swallowed by his kiss and the wild pounding in her ears.
Slowly, her body calmed, but her mind still reeled with the aftermath of his touch. “Signor!”
“Marco,” he corrected, stroking her swollen lips with his finger. “Did that please you?”
“Please me?” She all but gasped. “Music pleases me, a beautiful sunset pleases me, a new dress pleases me. I have no word for what I just felt.”
“Would you feel more, my love?”
“Indeed, I would, if there is more to feel.”
“Much more,” he replied, and lowered his head again. But as their lips met, one of the dogs lifted his head with a welcoming bark as the door opened.
Elisa moved to spring up, but Marco held on. Short of tugging, she could not separate herself from him. Why would she? She wanted the touch of his hand on hers. For always. Did she still need to convince him?
“Ho, ho!” John said, scowling as he walked toward the window. “What is this I see? Not dipping your wick before the ceremonies are you, good signor?”
Elisa’s face burned. Her cheeks had to be scarlet.
Marco tightened his hold her waist, pulling her closer. Much closer, so she gasped at the pressure of his erection though her skirt. “No impropriety, my friend. I have been persuading the Lady Elisa to come to Bella Vista with me.”
TheWooingofLadyElisa Page 2
