Lady Melanthe beckoned him, offering reprieve and excuse with a knowing smile. He returned a nod, relieved to attend her. Melanthe understood him well.
She extended her hand as he went to his knee before her. He touched his lips to her fingers, the gesture and the scent of her so familiar that he could almost imagine his father standing by them, feel again the terror of discovery if Gian should guess how they had cheated him of all his aims.
Long ago now, that moment when both of their futures had dangled on a sheer thread of lies and fear. But Melanthe had never faltered in her nerve. Not once. Allegreto rose, meeting her eyes. She seemed smaller, even with her proud bearing and tall headpiece. He had to look down at her, something he never recalled before.
"My lady," he said coolly, exposing nothing of the unexpected emotion that rose in him. "Your husband is well?"
"Lord Ruadrik is well, God be praised. And my son and daughter." Abruptly she held his hand so hard that her rings cut into his fingers. "I wish the same blessings for you, Allegreto."
"Blessings." He gave a slight laugh as he looked away from her, out toward the lake. "That’s a strange thought."
"It will soon feel more familiar," she said. "I pray so. For my Ellie’s sake."
He looked back at her and tilted his head. "Do you care so much? I’ve wondered at the incompetence of those knights you chose for her protection."
"The Hospitallars? Ah. Yes, hopeless fools, indeed." She watched Elena laugh as Matteo and Nim cavorted before the crowd, then added softly, "Are all accounts in balance between us now?"
"Damn you, my lady," he murmured. "What a risk it was."
She gave a small shrug. "A chance. When there was no other. Elena was equal to it."
"Yes, she’s worse than you in her daring, God defend me."
Lady Melanthe smiled, still watching Elena. "And are we even now, Allegreto?"
"We are, my lady," he said.
"Take care of her," the countess said fiercely. Her rings glittered as she pushed a silken veil back from her shoulder. "There’s no other I would trust as you to do it." She turned away, leaving him standing alone amid the gay assembly.
* * *
In Gian’s tower Elena held open the shutters and looked out at the sunset over the lake. The chamber was cleaned and refurbished, draped in white Damascene silk with red roses woven through it. Nothing was the same—all of Gian’s furnishings were gone. Even the bed had been replaced, and the floor covered over in soft rush mat. But the clear rain-washed air and the mountains looming far across the water were still bathed in pink and gold like a vision of eternity.
She wore a loose robe. She hadn’t allowed Margaret or even Cara to attend her in the tower. But they seemed content to confine themselves to rowdy song and the clatter of metal pots and spoons in the courtyard below. Even in the tower, she could hear Nim’s barking and Matteo’s excited voice among the others. It was the first wedding he had attended, and he found the gay feast and noisy mattinata much to his liking.
Allegreto did not. By the time he came into the chamber, still dressed in his wedding clothes, breathing deeply from the steep flight of stairs, he leaned back on the door and glared at her bale-fully. "God spare us from celebrations," he muttered. "When did your sister learn to become amorous in her cups?"
"I think she was a little—nervous."
"No doubt she thought I’d poison her wine. Although that didn’t prevent her from drinking a vat of it."
Elena clasped her hands. "So you didn’t find your love for her revived?"
"Hell-cat," he said darkly, "I will poison her wine, if she doesn’t comport herself with better modesty."
Elena pressed a smile from her lips. "I know you prefer modest females."
He stalked to the big traveling chest that held her clothing and sat down. He pulled off his soft ankle boots. Then he sat up, keeping his gaze averted from her. He seemed to find the black-and-white dagger points on the playing table to be of great interest.
She kept her hands clasped together. "I thank you for the vow you made. With Franco."
"It was my penance from the priest." He lifted his head, his look traveling from her toes up to her face. "It was that or walk barefoot to Jerusalem, so..." He shrugged.
Silence prevailed between them. Elena stood by the window, her hair all down about her like a virgin maid’s, her chin lowered a little. From under her lashes, she looked at his feet clad in the silvery-white hose.
"You’re not trying to appear modest, are you?" he asked suspiciously.
Elena blinked, her eyes wide.
He rose with an easy move. She lowered her face even more as he walked across the chamber to her, until she could only see his belt and daggers hung low on his hips, and his feet set apart as he stood before her. She kept her fingers clasped and her eyes down as he lifted her chin on his thumb.
"Mary!" he growled. "Have me thrown in some dungeon, before I suppose I’ve wed the wrong bride."
She ran her tongue over her upper lip. "You would like that?"
"Oh, yes." He lowered his mouth to hers, barely touching. "If you’ll come and torment me there."
"Allegreto," she whispered, looking up into his dark eyes. "I love you."
"My heart is in chains, hell-cat," he said. He pulled her close, his hands in a merciless tangle in her hair. "If I had one."
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Many of you know that for a time, it was quite a struggle for me to finish Shadowheart. I owe thanks to a number of people for helping me make it through when my fickle muse went on strike. The patience and support I received from my agent, Richard Curtis, and Leslie Gelbman, president and publisher of Berkley Books, were invaluable and went far beyond anything I deserved. To all the online chat "regulars" at Holly Lisle’s Forward Motion Writers’ Community, my deepest appreciation for word wars and brainstorms and helping me realize that writing was fun again. In particular, June Drexler Robertson, Andi Ward, and Sheila Kelly were my enthusiastic partners in plotting twists and encouraging me to keep at it when I faltered. Charles R. Rutledge, my "fight man," generously offered his expertise in choreographing all that good violence and assassin stuff. My thanks to my volunteer "checkers" who helped me catch errors in the manuscript.
And as always...I owe the most to David, who said it didn’t matter either way, writing or no writing, we’d be okay.
Thank you.
Find out more about my books at www.laurakinsale.com
About the Author
Laura Kinsale is the award winning and New York Times–bestselling author of The Shadow and the Star, Seize the Fire, The Prince of Midnight, Flowers From the Storm, For My Lady’s Heart, and The Dream Hunter. She and her husband divide their time between Santa Fe and Dal-las. Shadowheart won the Romance Writers of America Rita Award for best long historical romance of 2004. Kinsale also won best ro-mance novel of 1990 for Prince of Midnight. Kinsale was 1987–1988 Career Achievement Award Winner from Romantic Times Maga-zine. She was also Regency Historical Romance 2004 Career Achievement Award Winner from Romantic Times Magazine and the Innovative Historical Romance 1994 RRA Awards Nominee for Best Historical Romance Author.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
These are works of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
For My Lady’s Heart Copyright © 1993, 2004, 2011 by Hedgehog Inc.
Shadowheart Copyright © 2004, 2011 by Hedgehog, Inc.
Cover design by Lesley Worrell
ISBN: 978-1-5040-5298-6
This edition published in 2018 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
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