He shut the door behind him, and she stood there a moment before moving her shoulders as if shrugging off a burden. Caprino was right—she was very fortunate to be free of Lion Andreas.
She strode briskly to the bellpull and gave it a sharp tug to alert her maid to send Messer Gondolfo to her chamber.
Six
No!” Sanchia sat bolt upright in the bed, her arms flailing wildly. “Cristo! No, don’t—”
“Santa Maria, what in Hades is wrong with you?” Lion raised himself on one elbow, a frown darkening his face. “Are you ill?”
Sanchia gazed hazily around the room. This chamber was firelit and clean, not dark and vermin-infested. She raised her arms and dizzying relief soared through her. “I still have them.”
“Have what?”
“My hands.” She held her hands out before her, flexing the fingers. “I thought they were gone. I thought they’d caught me stealing and thrown me into the Stinche and chopped them off. But they didn’t …”
“A dream.” Lion’s voice was gruff as he lay back down again. “Go back to sleep.”
“A dream,” she repeated. She obediently lay down, but she didn’t want to release the warmth and safety of wakefulness and return to sleep where those hideous nightmares stalked. She lay there, conscious of Lion beside her. How strange to be in bed with a naked man. She supposed she would get accustomed to it in time. If she was given time. Who could know how long Lion would choose to fornicate with her? Nothing stayed the same in this world.
“Do you often dream of having your hands chopped off?” Lion asked in a low voice.
“Yes, I told you I wasn’t very brave.”
He was silent for such a long time, she thought he’d fallen asleep. “You cannot help your dreams, and it’s not cowardly to be afraid of danger. It’s intelligent.”
She laughed shakily. “Then I must be as wise as a seer. I’m almost always afraid. Ever since I saw a thief thrown out of the Stinche, his poor, bleeding stumps of arms waving as if begging someone to—”
“It will not happen to you.”
“I hope not,” she whispered.
“It will not. I must have the key, but no harm will come to you.”
He was angry. She should try to placate him, but she was suddenly too weary to make the effort. She turned on her side. “I’m sorry I woke you, my lord.”
“Lion.”
“I forgot.” Oh dear, he did sound fiercely impatient. Perhaps it would be better to return to the uncertain threat that lay waiting for her in sleep than face his displeasure. “I’ll try to remember. Forgive me … Lion.”
His only answer was a low imprecation.
She didn’t fall asleep for a long time, but as she finally drifted off, she realized Lion still lay rigid and wide awake beside her.
“What are you smiling about?” Lion snapped at Lorenzo as he lifted Sanchia onto her horse.
“Why should I not be smiling?” Lorenzo asked innocently. “It’s a bright, clear spring morning and I’ve had a good night’s sleep. You should not be churlish just because you can’t say the same. I’m sure you had compensations I didn’t enjoy.”
Lion didn’t answer as he swung onto the saddle and spurred the stallion into a gallop that left the stableyard of the inn behind him in seconds.
Lorenzo sighed. “I foresee a day like yesterday on the horizon. I had hoped for something better after Lion had appeased his lust for you.” He kicked his horse into a trot. “Come along, Sanchia, or he’ll be half way to Solinari before we catch up with him.”
Sanchia nudged her mare into a trot. “How did you—” She stopped. “You must know him very well.”
“Well enough to know he’d reached the end of his patience last night when I left you.” Lorenzo gazed at her objectively. “Lust can be a strong tie to bind a man, and you’ll need that bond to keep you safe at Mandara.”
“Safe? Why should I not be safe?”
A faint smile touched his lips. “The situation there is complicated. Lady Caterina will not be amused at your arrival.”
Sanchia tensed. “Caterina?”
“The Lady Caterina Andreas, Lion’s mother. She’s a virago when she’s displeased.”
“Oh.” Sanchia thought about it. “Then I’ll have to find a way to please her, won’t I?”
He chuckled. “You’ll find Lady Caterina a challenge. There are still stories told of the way she defended Mandara when Lion and his father were away fighting in Tuscany. Nicolino, a condottiere who decided Mandara was a rich plum ripe for the picking, laid siege to the city. Lady Caterina rallied her troops to repel the attacking army, then led a foray into the enemy camp, captured Nicolino, and brought him back to Mandara. She stood on the battlements and called down to Nicolino’s second in command that if they didn’t give up the siege she’d hang Nicolino. Unfortunately, the officer didn’t believe she would do it and renewed the siege.”
“What happened?”
“She hanged Nicolino. Then she lowered his body by a rope to dangle from the battlements in full view of his condotti. The army retreated at dawn the next morning.”
A sinking feeling fluttered in the pit of Sanchia’s stomach. It wasn’t enough she had to please Lion; now she’d also have his warrior mother to worry about. “She sounds very strong.”
“Yes.” Lorenzo glanced at her. “But you have your own strength. She’ll respect you, if you don’t give in and let her ride over you.” He smiled. “And if you do give in, you deserve to be trampled and Lion will be well rid of you.”
“I won’t be trampled.” Her brow furrowed as she considered this new factor complicating her life. “For some reason you want me to fight her, don’t you? Will you help me?”
“No. I merely position the chess pieces on the board; I don’t interfere with the play itself.”
“Never?”
He met her gaze. “Never.”
Sanchia’s hands tightened on the reins. She felt very much alone. “He may not even take me to Mandara. He’s angry with me this morning.”
“It’s not anger. You’ll have to learn to read him better.” Lorenzo’s gaze shifted to Lion’s broad back several yards in front of them. “He suffers the same malady that afflicted him last night. It’s not a horse he wants to be riding right now.”
“You mean—”
“Exactly, my dear Sanchia.” Lorenzo’s tone was definitely more cheerful as he kicked his horse into a lope. “Which gives me hope that we may stop before we reach Solinari after all.”
They halted at noon beside a tiny brook twisting through a forest glade.
One moment Lion was riding several hundred yards ahead of them on the trail, and the next he was wheeling Tabron and galloping back to them. “We’ll stop here until the sun is less hot,” he said curtly.
“I hadn’t noticed that it was the sun that was hot,” Lorenzo murmured. “But I’ll accept any falsehood, if it will get me off this animal.”
Lion ignored him as he dismounted and strode over to Sanchia. “Get down.” He reached up, his big hands encircling her waist. “Hurry.”
The urgency in his tone surprised her until she saw his face. Her eyes widened and she suddenly lost her breath. Lorenzo was right; it hadn’t been anger driving him. The expression on Lion’s face held the same intense hunger she’d seen last night.
He almost jerked her from the saddle before setting her down quickly. His hands on her waist kneaded her flesh through the soft fabric of her gown. The heat of his body reached out to her, claiming her. “You wish to—”
“Be quiet.” His voice was hoarse as he backed her against the mare. “Don’t talk. Just give me what I need.” He jerked her gown from her shoulders, baring her breasts.
She gasped and then collapsed back against the mare as his mouth enveloped her left nipple. He sucked avidly, strongly, his teeth pressed against her while his hand cupped her other breast and began to squeeze rhythmically. The same liquid burning she had known last night tingled betw
een her thighs. Her eyes closed as her throat arched back, her head resting against the mare’s saddle. “Here? But Messer Lorenzo—”
“Is politely averting his eyes,” Lion muttered as he lifted his head. Color flushed the tan of his cheeks, and his nostrils flared with every breath. “And is more than pleased.” He grabbed Sanchia’s wrist and pulled her away from the horses, striding from the trail and deeper into the forest.
“Where are we going?” She had to run to keep up with him.
“Not far.”
He stopped a few yards farther into the forest and pushed her against the bole of a tree.
Rough bark pressing against the soft velvet of her gown, the pungent scent of earth and leaves and the leather of his jerkin …
His fingers worked frantically beneath his jerkin at the points of his hose until his aroused shaft sprang free. “Don’t fight me,” he ordered as he lifted her skirts and undershift to her waist. “Do as I tell you.” His palms were cupping her buttocks, raising her, adjusting her body against his manhood. “Put your legs around my waist.”
Her thighs obediently encircled him. “I won’t fight—” She broke off as he entered her with one wild, urgent plunge. Her head sank back against the rough bark of the tree as she felt every ridge, every inch of the wild, hot length of him.
He cried out and stopped, flexing within her. His face held a pleasure and relief that was nearly unbearable. “Dio! Yes … yes.” Then he was driving, plunging with a force that rocked through her. Her shoulders were pushed back against the bole of the tree as he took and took and took …
She should have been frightened by the violence of his hunger, but she wasn’t afraid. She was somehow aware that he didn’t want to hurt her but was driven by that voracious appetite of which he had warned her.
“Give …” He muttered. “Hurry. Give.”
He wanted her to give him not only her body but the response she had shown last night, she realized dimly.
He reached between them and pressed, his thumb and forefinger plucking at her. She cried out and arched up to him.
“Now,” he groaned in a guttural tone. “Now.” He plunged deep.
She gave him what he wanted, what she was helpless to deny him. She bit her lower lip to keep from screaming as wave after wave of pleasure radiated through her.
“That’s right,” he gasped, his hot cheek resting against her temple. “That’s what I wanted.”
She had pleased him, she realized hazily. How fortunate that in pleasing herself she could also please him.
His hand was awkwardly stroking her hair as his other arm held her bound to him, even now refusing to let her escape his possession.
After a moment he slowly stepped back and lifted her off him. “I didn’t mean to be rough. I waited too long,” he said haltingly. Then, as if regretting the half apology, he added, “But you must get used to my ways, and now is as good a time as later.” He quickly tied the points of his hose before straightening her gown. “When I need you, then you must take me into you. There will be many occasions when I won’t be able to wait until we find a bed.”
“I understand.”
“Good.” He turned away. “Refresh yourself at the brook and then let’s be on our way. I want to be at Solinari well before nightfall.”
Lorenzo was reclining lazily beneath a tree beside the path and pulled a face as he saw them coming out of the woods. “Already? You were hotter than I thought, my friend. I was hoping for a longer respite.” He rose to his feet, meticulously dusting off his gray velvet jerkin. “But perhaps we’ll have another rest later.” A ghost of a twinkle glinted in his light eyes. “It’s such a very hot day.”
“We won’t stop. Not until we’ve reached Solinari.” Lion swung onto the stallion and started down the trail.
“Now he’s angry,” Lorenzo said as he lifted Sanchia onto the mare. Then, as her gaze flew down to his face in alarm, he shook his head. “Not with you. With himself. He allowed you to distract him from his quest for the Wind Dancer. Not for long, but he still considers it a weakness in himself that he won’t tolerate. Personally, I find it a very good sign for the future.”
“Why?”
He gazed at her a moment, as if trying to decide whether to answer. “Because Lion’s sense of responsibility has become a form of bondage. He regards himself not only as the guardian of the Wind Dancer but of everything in his particular world. I suppose it’s not surprising. I understand his father instilled that belief in him from the time he was hardly more than a babe. In a way, the statue is a symbol of that bondage.”
“Bondage? He’s a great lord. Responsibility is not bondage.”
“In some men it is.” Lorenzo shrugged. “So keep him so aroused he can’t think of responsibilities, Sanchia. It’s the best thing for both of you.”
“I don’t know how to keep him wanting me.” Sanchia’s cheeks felt hot. “And I don’t know if I’d want to make him forget his responsibilities. Surely it is only honorable to—”
Lorenzo groaned as he mounted his horse. “Santa Maria, another acolyte burning incense at the temple of honor and glory. I thought you had more sense.” He shook his head. “Oh well, perhaps that’s what draws him to you. Like to like.”
Sanchia stared at him incredulously. “We’re not at all alike.”
“Yes, you are. But you, Sanchia, are also like me. It will be interesting to see which aspect of your character triumphs in the end.” He turned to look at her with cool appraisal. “Power can be very heady. It may occur to you that it would be to your advantage to use the passion Lion feels for you to rise in the world. I have nothing against ambition, but I won’t have Lion used. If you show signs of doing so, I will have to remove you.”
“I have no power over him.”
“Continue in that belief and you’ll remain in robust health.”
“You care about him.” The knowledge that a man as chillingly objective as Lorenzo could care for anyone filled her with wonder. “Why?”
“Who knows?” His smile was self-mocking. “Do you wish me to mouth some maudlin drivel about Lion being the man I would have been in other circumstances? Or even the son I might have sired?” He shook his head. “What makes any man feel anything? Life is filled with strange, exotic emotions, with great mysteries. Which is what makes it tolerable.” His horse moved forward at a faster clip as he touched his spurs to the animal’s sides.
It was late afternoon when they approached a small farmhouse on the edge of a clear blue lake.
“We go no farther,” Lion said as he reined in Tabron. “The village is only a short distance from here, and Solinari lies just beyond it. I don’t want word of our arrival to be carried to the palazzo, so we’ll wait here for Marco to come to us. I’ll talk to the owner of this farm and make arrangements for us to stay the night in his house.”
“Who is Marco?” Sanchia asked.
“My brother.” Lion dismounted and strode across the barnyard and into the small sod farmhouse.
Another surprise. She really knew nothing about Lionello Andreas, she thought. Was this brother as fierce as Lion and the mother who had borne them both? It was more than probable. She experienced a sudden longing for blessedly familiar Florence where every danger was at least known.
“Marco is not at all like Lion.” Lorenzo’s assurance came as if he had read her thoughts. He dismounted, then helped her to do so too. “You may find him charming. Most women do.”
“It’s not her place to find him charming.” Lion had returned and was standing on the step. “I have no intention of sharing Sanchia with him.”
“How ungenerous of you,” Lorenzo said. “Not to mention surprising. Why are you so miserly with Sanchia when you’re so willing to share—”
“The house looks clean enough,” Lion interrupted. “I’ve paid the farmer for a night’s lodging, and he and his wife will go to his father’s farm a few miles from here to shelter tonight. The man will walk to the village to seek out wor
d of Marco and give him a message that we’re here while the woman heats water for bathing.”
“Excellent,” Lorenzo said. “And since you’re so fond of these four-footed beasts, I know you won’t mind taking care of the horses while I rest.” He prudently didn’t wait for a reply but strode into the farm house.
Lion smiled lopsidedly as he gazed after Lorenzo. “He’d be very disappointed to realize that I don’t mind.” He took the reins of the horses and led them toward the small barn. “The hut has only one room, and there’s going to be little privacy until we leave Solinari.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Why are you just standing there? Come with me to the barn.”
She finally understood and hurried after him. “You wish me to lie with you again?”
“If we can find a pile of hay or a blanket free of vermin.” He opened the door to the small barn, led the horses inside, and tied their reins to an empty stall. “Otherwise we’ll have to be content with a post to lean against.” He suddenly stopped and turned to face her in the shadowy barn. “It makes no difference. Nothing matters but this.” His hands reached out, moving over her shoulders as a great shudder ran through him. His gaze raked the barn with frantic urgency until he saw a small heap of hay beside one of the stalls. “I wanted you again not ten minutes after we left the brook. I ached with it. I ache now.” He led her quickly to the pile of hay and pushed her to her knees. “Make it stop.” His voice was low, fierce with frustration and anger. “Santa Maria, make it stop!”
He pushed up her skirt and took her with even more wildness than he had shown earlier that afternoon and had scarcely reached the peak when he took her a second time, drawing her with him into a vortex of fiery pleasure.
Lion moved off her, lying beside her on the hay, his chest laboring as he tried to catch his breath. She was also panting, still trembling helplessly from the emotional storm through which Lion had swept her.
“I hate this.” Lion thrust his arm over his eyes, speaking through clenched teeth. “It won’t last, you know.”
The Wind Dancer/Storm Winds Page 11
