The Wind Dancer/Storm Winds

by Iris Johansen

  He glanced up with a sheepish smile. “I think you’re laughing at me. I’m accustomed to it. Lorenzo finds my enthusiasm very amusing.”

  It was not enthusiasm, it was a passion, and she was suddenly no longer amused but touched that he would share it with her. “I find it interesting but naturally a little confusing. You’re trying to teach me in one afternoon everything you’ve learned in two years.”

  He nodded. “I told you I wasn’t a patient man.”

  “I’ve noticed that lack in you.”

  He frowned and then suddenly smiled. “You’re laughing at me again. I haven’t seen you amused since before Solinari.”

  He was right, she realized with a start of surprise.

  “You told me once that you wouldn’t let the threat of Caprino rob you of joy,” Lion said softly. “Don’t let what Damari did to you rob you either, Sanchia. You don’t want to give him such a victory.”

  She gazed at him for a moment and then smiled brilliantly. “No, I don’t. I won’t let that whoreson take one more thing from me than he already has.” She looked down at the plan for the round ship. “Now tell me why this is shaped so differently from the galley.”

  Lion’s gaze rested on her face for a thoughtful moment and then he too glanced down at the scroll and he began to answer her question.

  Lion stayed for the rest of the afternoon, but not once did he touch her or betray any hint of intimacy in his speech or manner. When Piero returned to the house he conversed for a few minutes with the boy and then rose to leave.

  “Your designs,” Sanchia reminded him as she scrambled to her feet and reached for the scrolls.

  “Put them in that cabinet.” Lion nodded to the polished oak cabinet across the room. “I’ll return tomorrow.”

  She smiled. “You wish to tutor me again in the craft of shipbuilding?”

  “No, tomorrow I’ll bring something else to show you.”

  She was lost in bemusement after he left. What an extraordinary afternoon it had been, and what revelations of himself Lion had permitted her. She felt more at ease with him than she ever had before and had been oddly reluctant to see him go.

  “Shall I put them away for you, Sanchia?” Piero asked, his gaze on the scrolls in her hands.

  “What?” She roused herself and smiled down at him. “No, I’ll do it.” She crossed the room, opened the cabinet, and placed the scrolls very carefully on the shelf inside. The scrolls were constructed not only of parchment and ink, but of Lion’s dreams. Dreams should be well taken care of in a world where so few were realized. She closed the cabinet and, smiling, turned back to Piero. “Did you enjoy your ride? Where did you go?”

  At first glance she recognized the mahogany chest Lion carried. How could she possibly forget it?

  “The Wind Dancer?” she whispered.

  He nodded as he kicked the door shut behind him and carried the chest into the salon. He set the chest on the table and opened the lid. “You suffered much for it. I thought you’d like to see it.” He lifted the golden statue out of the box and carefully set it on the table. “The Wind Dancer.”

  She could see why Marco had thought the statue was alive when he had first seen it as a child. The muscles of the winged horse seemed to flex and flow with life beneath the burnished smoothness of the gold. It issued an irresistible invitation to be touched. Marco had forgotten to tell her the emerald eyes were faceted in such a way that they shimmered as if with an ever-changing expression.

  She gazed at the Wind Dancer in silent absorption for several moments before moving slowly across the room to stand before it. She touched the base of the statue with a tentative finger. “It’s … beautiful. What are these carvings?”

  He shrugged. “Some sort of ancient script. It’s said there was once a clay tablet that accompanied the Wind Dancer and that one of my ancestors carved the message from the tablet onto the base of the statue after the tablet was broken.”

  “What does the writing mean?”

  “No one knows. Perhaps we’ll never know.” Lion affectionately touched one filigreed wing. “Perhaps he doesn’t want us to know.”

  Lion was again speaking of the statue as if it were a living being and his touch had been a caress. She gazed with helpless fascination at the breathtakingly beautiful object on the table, and the emerald eyes of the Wind Dancer seemed to be gazing directly back at her.

  Lion’s gaze shifted to her face. “What’s wrong?”

  “I suppose it reminds me of Solinari. For some reason, I feel frightened when I look at it.” She shrugged uneasily. “Will you put it back in the chest?”

  Lion nodded slowly. “Certainly.” He started to pick up the statue. “I never meant to—”

  “What is that?” Piero stood in the doorway, his gaze fixed curiously on the Wind Dancer. “May I see it?”

  Lion nodded and set the statue back on the table. “It’s a statue of a horse called the Wind Dancer.”

  “Why is he called that?”

  “Because he’s a magical horse who dances on the wind and the clouds. Sanchia thinks he’s a little more intimidating than your pony.”

  “Does that mean frightening?” Piero crossed the room and gazed gravely at the statue. The Wind Dancer and the small boy were almost on eye level, giving Sanchia the uncanny impression they were measuring each other. “He doesn’t frighten me. Look, he’s smiling.”

  Sanchia had thought the teeth of the Pegasus were bared, but now she could see how that parting of the lips might be interpreted as a smile. “Aren’t you going for your ride this afternoon?”

  Piero nodded, his gaze still on the statue. “I came to tell you good-bye. Donato is waiting outside.” His index finger poked playfully at the Wind Dancer’s muzzle. “I like him. Are we going to keep him?”

  “No,” she said quickly. “He belongs to Lord Andreas.”

  Piero looked at her in wonder. “He does frighten you. But why? He’s beautiful, Sanchia, and he smiles …”

  Sanchia nodded. “Yes, he’s quite beautiful. Now why don’t you hurry along? You’re keeping Donato waiting, and it’s very warm outside today.”

  Piero moved reluctantly toward the door. “We’re going to ride out to the vineyard this afternoon. Goodbye, Lord Andreas.” He paused as he opened the door for one last look at the Wind Dancer and then turned and was gone.

  “Children always love the Wind Dancer. I did myself.” Lion picked up the statue and carefully placed it back in its velvet lined container. “Time will dim the memory of Solinari, Sanchia.”

  She tried to smile as she avoided looking at the box on the table. “It’s already dimming.” She turned away. “Would you like a cup of malmsey? Rosa left a pitcher on—” She broke off as she felt his big hands fall on her shoulders.

  “I want no malmsey.” His voice was rough. “And I’m sorry I brought the Wind Dancer if it frightens you. It’s always been a part of my life, and I thought it only fair I share it with you.” He paused. “As I want you to share my life.” One hand shifted the weight of her hair to one side, his lips lowered to touch the sensitive flesh at her nape with his tongue. “Your skin reminds me of the Wind Dancer. Golden, smooth, infinitely precious. The first time I saw you naked at Guilia’s I thought of the Wind Dancer.”

  “Let’s not speak of that time.” She quickly stepped forward and away from his grasp. “I put away your designs as you bade me. Would you like me to get them?”

  “No. Why are you running away from me?”

  “I’m not running away. I only wondered—” A shudder ran through her as she felt his hands on her shoulders again. “Please, don’t touch me.”

  “Why not? I like the feel …”

  Her laugh held a hint of desperation. “You said that about building your ships.”

  “It’s not the same.” His hands moved up to her throat and his thumbs rubbed slowly, sensually, at her nape. “Turn around, Sanchia. I want to see your face so I can fathom your thoughts.”

  “I
’m thinking that this is a mistake.” Her voice was shaking. “I told you that you couldn’t change my mind. I cannot come to Pisa—” She broke off as she felt his lips on the cord at the side of her neck. The caress felt far more arousing than it should have. The long, hard muscles of his body were pressed against her back and the heat of him enveloped her. She swayed back against him. “It’s a mistake.”

  “No.” He turned her around, his gaze on her flushed cheeks and trembling lips. “I’m closer than you believe to persuading you to my way of thinking.” He reluctantly released her and stepped back. “And I will most certainly continue. Do you play chess?”

  She didn’t answer at once, surprised by his change of subject. “No, you forget I had no opportunity to learn such games.”

  He made a face. “Nor did I, until Lorenzo came into my life. He delights in chastising me regularly at the board. I think it only fair that I pass the punishment on to you. Tomorrow I’ll teach you the rudiments of chess.” He turned away and picked up the Wind Dancer. “Chess has very interesting tactics both of attack and defense. I believe you’ll find it rewarding.”

  “Attack.”

  Lion’s voice was soft as he moved his ebony knight forward, his gaze lifting to meet Sanchia’s across the board.

  She braced herself, staring blindly down at the chess board. “I don’t believe I like this game. I seem to be always on the defensive.”

  “That’s because you lack concentration.” Lion sat back in his chair and smiled. “Why is that, I wonder?”

  The smirking devil knew very well why she couldn’t concentrate, she thought crossly. Lion worked very hard at making sure her thinking was blurred by her responses to him. Each time he had visited her in the last week it had been the same. He scarcely touched her, but the atmosphere between them was so charged with emotion and memories of what had gone before she had grown increasingly more tense with each passing day. Now, as she looked up and saw him watching her knowingly, she realized she must either surrender or put an end to it.

  “Then I obviously should not play.” She pushed back her chair and stood up. “And I will not play. You must go back to Lorenzo if you want another game.”

  He pulled a face. “But Lorenzo trounces me soundly. I’m the one who is on the defensive there.” He smiled beguilingly. “Do you not feel pity for me? A man should triumph in at least one arena of endeavor.”

  She felt a melting within her and quickly averted her eyes from the roughhewn fascination of his face. When had she stopped thinking Lion’s face hard and impassive? Of late she had found it was a game to try to catch the sparks of humor, the sudden alertness when something aroused his interest or curiosity, the intensity of his narrowed eyes when he was deep in thought. It was another dangerous sign of the growing disturbance he was capable of arousing in her. A sign she should have heeded long before.

  “Not this arena.” She turned and moved a few paces away from him, putting distance between them. He hadn’t moved from his chair and yet she felt he was in relentless pursuit. “I’ve decided that you should not visit me any longer.”

  “Have you? I don’t agree.” He reached out and picked up her jade queen from the chessboard, his blunt, powerful fingers closing gently about it. “Why do you never wear green? I believe it would become you.” His thumb rubbed slowly back and forth, exploring the intricately carved hollows, the smooth texture of the chess piece. “A gown the color of jade.”

  She gazed in helpless absorption at his fingers caressing the piece. His touch on the queen was light, skilled, infinitely sensual. She found to her surprised dismay that her breasts were suddenly swelling, the nipples peaking, pushing against the material of her undershift. She quickly looked away and crossed her arms over her chest. “Lorenzo chose a length of green velvet and ordered a gown made up of it, but it’s far too fine to wear every day. I told him I’d have no use for such a gown, but he wouldn’t listen to me.”

  “It’s a fault of Lorenzo’s.” Lion looked down at the chess piece. “Do you know that some noblemen play chess with human pieces? They lay out their gardens as giant chessboards and choose the most attractive of their servants or loved ones to play the different pieces.”

  “I’ve heard tales of such a thing.”

  “You would make an exquisite queen.”

  Her gaze was drawn once more to the piece in his hand and her cheeks grew warm. “You’re wrong. I’m not at all queenly. The lady Caterina should play that role.”

  His index finger rimmed the crown on the chess queen’s head. “It’s true the artist who sculpted these pieces used my mother as a model, but there’s more than one kind of majesty.” He set the jade queen down on the board.

  Sanchia’s breath of relief escaped in an audible rush and she immediately felt foolish.

  “The idea of such a life-size game appeals to me.” Lion smiled at her across the room. “I think we’ll play it some day soon.”

  “I’ll not be here to indulge in your fancies.”

  “No?”

  “I told you I wouldn’t stay. I told you I was only waiting until I was sure there was no child.”

  He went still. “And you’re certain now?”

  “Yes, my flux started three days ago.”

  “I must admit to disappointment. I was hoping for a child.” He gazed at her thoughtfully. “Why did you not tell me before?”

  “I did not wish … what difference does it make?”

  “Could it be that you were enjoying our time together and didn’t wish to mar it?”

  “No.” She ran her fingers nervously through her hair. “I mean, yes. It hasn’t been unpleasant but—”

  “And you have discovered you have a liking for me?”

  She watched him without speaking as he stood up and circled the table to come toward her.

  “We’ve shared laughter and thoughts these past days.” Lion stopped before her, studying her expression. “I had hoped you would find something in me to like as well as fear.”

  “I do not fear you.”

  “Then why are you standing there barricading yourself against me?” He gently unclasped her arms that were still folded across her breasts and placed them at her sides. “I’ve never cared before whether any woman had a fondness for me, but I find it necessary that you do.” He paused. “At least, you do not dislike me any longer?”

  “We have had many pleasant hours together. I found you very … amiable.”

  His hands moved up to cup her shoulders. “Sanchia, tell me truly.”

  She felt helpless. If she told him the truth, he would be able to wound her and yet he had left himself open to hurt. Abruptly she knew she couldn’t inflict pain on him. “I have found many qualities in you to like.”

  She was rewarded by a brilliant smile. He leaned forward and gave her a quick, hard, honey sweet kiss. Then his hands were gone from her shoulders and he stepped back.

  “No more. You see how tame you have me? Soon I’ll be caviling at your every frown and composing sonnets to your enchanting eyebrows like a true courtier.”

  Tame? She almost laughed aloud when she recalled how blatant had been his sensuality as he had toyed with the chess piece. He was tough, amorous, and lusty—and would always be so, no matter how hard he tried to cloak it.

  “I haven’t noticed you caviling of late.”

  “Oh, but that’s because you haven’t been frowning at me. Can’t you see how delightfully we deal together? We would enjoy our hours out of bed as much as those in it.” His eyes were suddenly twinkling. “Well, a slight exaggeration. Perhaps not quite as much.”

  She shook her head.

  “Dio, what a stubborn wench you are. I should never have brought Piero here. He’s obviously teaching you to be as obstinate as he is.”

  The words were spoken lightly but their very carelessness aroused her wariness. “You wouldn’t take him away?”

  He shook his head, his smile fading. “You do not know me as well as I hoped. I don’t
demand gifts back because none are given in return.”

  She had hurt him. She had an impulse to reach out in comfort, but she had already yielded too much. “I love him.”

  “Lucky boy. I have to plead for your admission of your liking for me and he’s freely given your love.” He shrugged. “Oh, well, I did not ask for love, did I? I suppose I should be grateful that you’re teaching me the gentle art of patience.” He turned and strode toward the door. “I’ll leave you now. I can tell you’re becoming nervous of me.” He held up his hand as she started to protest. “Why else would you be talking about running away again? It appears I must return to my strategy of attack.”

  “Attack?”

  “Attack and defense. The oldest game on earth. The game we’ve been playing all this week.” He looked intently at her. “But the game is almost over, Sanchia. Why not give up now and save us both time and effort? If you don’t do it today, you will tomorrow, or next week or next month.” His voice lowered to compelling persuasiveness. “You like me. You lust after me. Why not live with me? There would be no shame in it. I would kill any man who offered you insult. You’re a loving woman and, if you cannot love me, would you not like your own child to love?” His gaze swept down her body to her abdomen. “My mother says I’m unnatural not to want an heir of my own, but I have cared nothing for a child before this time.” He paused. “Now I believe I’d like to have a child by you.”

  She swallowed to ease the tautness of her throat. “No.”

  “Yes,” he said softly. “I can give you a babe to love and cherish. You want a child, Sanchia. Let me give you what you need.”

  His words were weaving velvet ribbons of emotion, binding her, luring her. She shook her head desperately. “There is too much risk to my feelings.”

  “But the risk seems less now, doesn’t it? And, as time passes, coming to me will seem less and less fraught with danger. I have no intention of giving up when I’m so close.” He smiled. “One night you’ll let me come to your bed, and after that I’ll never leave it.” He bowed. “Buona sera, cara.”

  Cara. That sweet, loving endearment he had used only once before to lure her helplessly into a storm of danger.