The Wind Dancer/Storm Winds

by Iris Johansen

  He raised his head. “Thank you, cara.” His voice was grave.

  She buried her cheek on the soft wiry mat on his chest and his fingers reached up to tangle in her hair. “Why do you not speak?”

  “I don’t know what to say. I’m too full—” She broke off as she felt the reverberation of his laughter beneath her ear and she realized her unintentional play on words. “Well, that too.”

  He flexed lazily within her. “If you think I’m going to leave you yet, you are very much mistaken. I’ve waited too long to reach this haven to withdraw until I’ve sated both of us.” He pushed her away from him to smile down at her with surprising sweetness. “I think you’ll like this game far better than chess. Shall we move to another square? There are many strategies left to test.”

  “Not yet. I’m not sure how I even came to this point.”

  “I am sure.” His hands cupped her breasts. “And it was not the vino. I seduced you. I think I did it very well considering I’ve never attempted to lure a woman to my bed before. My nature is usually too rough and blunt for seduction. I would never have succeeded if you hadn’t already wanted me as much as I wanted you.” His hand moved down and began to stroke her belly. “Do you believe it possible I’ve given you a child?” He laughed softly. “Do you feel me stir? I grow ready just thinking about my child moving in you and—” He broke off as he felt her stiffening against him. “Sanchia?”

  “I didn’t consider a child. I didn’t …” Panic was rising within her. “How could I be so stupid?” She began to struggle but he held her immovable against him. “Let me go, Lion.”

  “No.” His voice was fierce. “You want to be here.” His hand lay heavy on her belly and he began to rub slowly back and forth. “And you want my child in your womb. I used no force. You took my seed willingly.”

  “The child would be a bastard and I a whore. I’ve lived only a shadow life since the moment I was born, and now you want me to live in those shadows for the rest of my life.” Her hands pushed at his shoulders. “I should not have done this. I should not have let you—”

  “Do you think I would not give you marriage if I could?” His hands grasped her shoulders with bruising force. “Do you want me to murder Bianca so that I can take you as my wife?”

  Her eyes widened in horror. “No, I didn’t mean—”

  “I cannot undo my marriage. As God is my witness, I wish I could.” His eyes were fierce in his set face. “I cannot make you my wife. I can only make you my love.”

  “Love?” she whispered.

  “It must be love. I told you I had feeling for you. What else could it be?”

  “You did not say you loved me.”

  “The word is hard for me.” His hands opened and closed on her shoulders. “I’ve never said it before.” He burst out, “I’ve never felt it before. I can’t say I like it. It twists my gut and makes me want to smash something.”

  “It doesn’t sound like love.”

  The fierceness faded from his expression as he looked down at her. “It also makes me wish to … treasure you. To care for your needs and protect and defend you.” He slowly lifted her off him. “And to have you feel something besides lust for me. I know I can rouse you to want to lie with me but—Why do you sit there and say nothing?”

  “I’m confused. I never expected you to say these words.”

  “And I never expected to say them.” He gazed at her directly. “You have no love for me?”

  “I don’t know.” She shivered. “Dio, I hope not.”

  A flicker of pain crossed his face. “You are honest, at least.” He shrugged. “So I must depend on lust to draw you to me. It was no more than I anticipated. Lust and perhaps my child in your body.” He turned toward the fire.

  She began dressing quickly, in a fever to be gone.

  He glanced over his shoulder. “You’re in a great hurry. Do you think I mean to keep you locked here in my tower room to use for my pleasure?”

  “Of course not.” Her trembling fingers made a futile attempt to tidy her hair. “I’ve already been in one prison for your sake. You would not cast me into another.” She moved toward the door.

  “Unless I cast myself into it with you.”

  She undid the bolt and threw open the door. “And you would not do such a foolish thing. You love your freedom too much.”

  “Sanchia.”

  She stopped, not looking at him.

  “Do you believe me when I say I love you?”

  “I don’t know.” She turned to face him. “I have a question for you. Was it your intention to lure me here only to get me with child?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think you capable of it.”

  “You’re quite right.” His smile was bittersweet. “I’m capable of most acts of ruthlessness, but I thought you knew I had no liking for deception.”

  She was again aware of pain beneath the toughness he wore like armor, and that perception awoke an answering hurt within herself so sharp she instinctively took a half step toward him. “I do know you’re an honest man. I did not mean …” She shook her head wearily. “I spoke without thinking. I didn’t believe I would be so weak as to let you couple with me again. It frightens me to realize I’m not as strong as I thought I was.” She straightened and gazed intently at him. “But it will not happen again. I am on guard now.”

  “It will happen again,” he said quietly. “And again and again. I’ll waylay you in the garden, I’ll pull you into any vacant chamber that has a bed, a quilt, or a cushion on the floor. It will keep on happening until you admit you want what we’re doing more than food or drink or sleep. Until you let me take you away from here to live with me.”

  He meant it. Once again Sanchia felt panic rising within her. She muttered an exclamation that was half despair, half protest, turned and fled from the chamber and down the spiral steps.

  She stopped at the bottom of the first flight of stairs and leaned her cheek against the cold stone of the wall. She could not go back to the hall and face Caterina and Bianca. She had betrayed both of them. She had betrayed herself. She could feel the tears sting her eyes as she ran down two more flights of stairs and along the corridor toward Bianca’s chamber. She would go to bed. She would go to sleep and not think of Lion or the way his face had looked when he had said he loved her or her own agonizing response to his words. It couldn’t be love between them. Wouldn’t love bring joy? Marco and Bianca loved each other and the joy shone from their faces. Surely if she loved Lion, it would be the same?

  The tears were running down Sanchia’s cheeks as she paused outside Bianca’s chamber. She had forgotten Bianca’s maid, Anna, would be waiting up for her mistress. Sanchia could not arouse Anna’s curiosity with these stupid tears or she would doubtless mention it to Bianca.

  She turned and ran down the hall to the chamber which Piero occupied next door, quietly opened the door, and slipped into the room. The fire in the fireplace had burned low and only the orange-red embers sparked up the chimney. The faint glow revealed Piero’s fair hair gleaming on the pillow on the big bed across the room, and Sanchia immediately felt as if a cool, soothing hand had been laid upon her heart. Here was a love with no pain, a love that would leave her with honor and independence. Whole. She moved closer to the bed and looked down at Piero. His long lashes curved on his round cheek, and he appeared even younger than his six years now that she could no longer see the wariness in those bright blue eyes.

  Even as the thought occurred to her, his eyes opened to gaze up at her. He was instantly awake. “Sanchia.”

  “Shh, all is well. I wanted to make sure you were sleeping.” She tucked the coverlet more closely around him. “It was a fine, splendid party. I’ll tell you all about it in the morning.”

  He raised himself on one elbow. “Why are you crying?”

  She wiped her eyes swiftly with the back of her hand. “No reason. I’m merely tired.”

  “You don’t cry when you’re tired.
Is your hand hurting?”

  “No, next week I’ll take off the splints and it will be quite well.” She reached out and smoothed his hair. “Go back to sleep. I’ll sit here awhile.”

  His gaze searched her face and then he shook his head. “Lie down. I want you to hold me until I go to sleep. Will you do that, Sanchia?”

  She hesitated and then lay down on the bed beside him. “Why do you want me to hold you? Are you afraid of the dark?”

  “Of course not. I’m not afraid of anything.” The denial came fiercely. “I just thought it would be … nice.” His arms came around her and he held her tightly. “Good night, Sanchia.”

  “Good night, Piero,” she whispered. Her throat was so tight she could scarcely speak. She was obviously not lying here to comfort, but to be comforted. Piero, with that instinctive wisdom he had learned so young, had comprehended her pain and bewilderment and was trying to soothe it in the only way he knew how. Her heart swelled with poignant tenderness as she nestled closer to the warmth of Piero’s small body.

  Yes, this was the only love she wanted in her life. This was the best kind of love.

  “You’ve made this garden into an Elysian field.” Lorenzo’s gaze ran admiringly over the rows and rows of brilliant blooms as they walked slowly toward the arbor. “I’ve always liked to stroll among your roses.”

  “You’ve phrased it well. For over thirty years I’ve wrested peace and forgetfulness from this earth.” Caterina’s proud gaze followed Lorenzo’s. “The castle grounds were overgrown, a tangle of thorn bushes when I came here as a bride.” She paused to touch the petals of one full-blown damask rose before strolling on. “And the castle was in little better condition than the grounds. Carlo’s father had been without a wife for over ten years and the servants had grown lazy without a mistress. It was foul as a pigsty. But I set to work and soon had it in order.”

  “I’m sure you did.” Lorenzo smiled at her. “I can see you tearing through the castle with a broom in one hand and a whip in the other.”

  She shook her head. “I was not then as I am now. I had just reached my thirteenth year when I Was given to Carlo in marriage and my home was very different from Mandara.”

  “How different?”

  “Serene, well ordered. My mother would never have permitted conditions such as I found at Mandara, and she would have swooned if she had seen the kitchen.”

  Lorenzo chuckled. “Do you think to make me pity that thirteen-year-old bride? You are not your mother. If you had not had a challenge to overcome, you would have ridden out and found one.”

  “What a hardhearted rogue you are.” She suddenly laughed. “But you’re right. In those early days I would have gone mad if I hadn’t had a great deal to do. I can remember kneeling in the dirt and digging and stabbing my spade into the earth. I spilled out all my rage and sorrow and loneliness to feed and water this garden. It’s a wonder anything at all grew.”

  “But you brought forth beauty.”

  “Yes, it’s strange how indifferent nature is to why we nurture it. It simply keeps on blossoming and giving as if we had lavished it with love instead of hate or despair.” She was thoughtful for a moment. “And then one day we look around and see all this beauty we’ve helped to create and suddenly the love is there. Is that not queer, Lorenzo?”

  “It’s the way nature tricks us into slaving to do her bidding. Children are the same. Nature makes infants winsome and amusing so that they won’t be strangled when they bring so much trouble to their unfortunate parents.”

  “Lion was a terrible baby, but Marco was as even-tempered as an angel.”

  “But you preferred Lion.”

  “I did not say that,” she said quickly. They walked in silence for a moment. “Lion was so like me. Impatient, wild, curious. It was natural I should feel close to him.”

  “Very natural. You’re still very much alike.”

  She shook her head. “But we grew away from each other when Carlo spirited him off.” She dropped down on the marble bench beneath the arch of the arbor. “Lion was only seven when Carlo insisted on taking him on his first campaign. Scarcely more than a baby. He said Lion must learn the ways of war early as Carlo had done from his father. I screamed and ranted but it did no good.”

  “And what did you do?”

  “I cleared another tract of land for an increase of my garden.” She indicated a place to the left of the arbor in which roses of a deep red flourished. “And I dug in the earth from dawn until sunset every day for two months and every time I tore into the earth I pretended it was Carlo’s heart. When he came back in the spring he told me how glad he was I had found such a gentle, womanly occupation to keep me from meddling in men’s affairs.”

  Lorenzo laughed and sat down on the bench beside her. “Cristo, what a dullard the man must have been.”

  She pointed to the graceful marble fountain in the center of the garden. “Marco designed that fountain when he was only fifteen. He was …” She stopped and her hand dropped to her lap. “Why am I out here chatting about flowers and fountains? I should be doing something. Lion is somewhere inside—”

  “My dear Caterina, as inflamed as Lion was when he dragged Sanchia away, you can be sure the act has already been done. He’s every bit as passionate as his mother. What is that pleasant little jingle I’ve been hearing?”

  Her gaze lowered to her left wrist. “I’ve forgotten to take off one of my bell bracelets.” As she slipped the slender circlet from her wrist it gave off a silvery tinkle. She held the circlet between her slim, nervous fingers and turned it around and around, gazing down at it unseeingly. “Did I give up too easily?”

  “You’ve not given up at all. Tomorrow you’ll be planning and plotting how to separate them again.”

  “Yes, but perhaps I should have done something before this. I don’t know why I was so lacking in determination. Am I getting old, Lorenzo?”

  “No, Caterina, no one is younger than you.”

  “I have gray in my hair.”

  “You have steel in your soul.”

  “I think I saw a line beside my mouth this morning when I looked in the mirror.”

  “Impossible. It was a crack in the mirror.”

  She was silent a moment, and then burst out laughing. “What sweet lies you tell me, and you say you always speak the truth.”

  “I am telling the truth. Is your garden any less beautiful now than in its first flowering thirty years ago?” He shook his head. “It has only changed, grown, matured. It’s been disciplined by harsh winters and your own hand, but each spring it renews itself. You’re like your garden, Caterina.” He looked out over the acres of flowers. “Perhaps you are this garden.”

  She glanced at him in surprise before her gaze shifted back to the bells in her hands. “Trust you to be extravagant. You compare me not to a single rose but to an entire garden.”

  “And the rich earth that nourishes it and the sharp thorns that protect it.”

  “Lorenzo, I …” She stopped and shook her head. “I value our friendship.”

  “Friendship is a fine thing.”

  “It is so pleasant sitting here in my garden with you.”

  “You don’t have to make polite conversation with me. I am only Lorenzo. Sit and be at peace.”

  She nodded and tilted her head to look up at the night sky. So many stars, remote and uncaring, as they shone down on a turbulent world. But no turbulence existed tonight in this garden. There was only Lorenzo, moonlight, the scent of roses, and the silvery music of the bracelet of bells she turned slowly in her fingers.

  “You must send me away,” Sanchia said as soon as she entered Caterina’s chamber the next morning. “Now. Today.”

  Caterina looked coolly at her as she put her quill pen back onto the ivory inkstand. “I wasn’t sure you hadn’t changed your mind. You didn’t appear overeager to leave Lion last night.”

  A flush stained Sanchia’s cheeks. “I made a mistake. I told you he makes me …
That’s why I must leave now before it happens again. You said you could find a way to smuggle me out of the city. It’s been over a week since I came to the castle. Surely you’ve discovered some way for me and Piero to leave.”

  Caterina nodded slowly. “The day after tomorrow, Messer Kalando’s merchant caravan goes to Venice to sell wine from our vineyard. I’ll send for the man and see if I can slip you out of the city with his train. However, they’ll be moving too slowly for Lion not to overtake them, so you and Piero must branch off and hide until Lion has stopped searching the immediate area. Then you can rejoin the caravan before it reaches Venice.” She paused. “You’re welcome to leave Piero here. I’ve grown very fond of him in the last week.”

  “He wouldn’t stay. He says we belong together,” Sanchia said. “But, if I find I cannot give him a good life, I’ll send him back to you in spite of his protests. It’s kind of you to offer him shelter.”

  “I am not kind.” Caterina rose to her feet and closed the account book. “Piero is welcome here because I like and admire the child.” She met Sanchia’s gaze. “As you would have been welcome under other circumstances.”

  Sanchia’s eyes widened in surprise, but she was given no chance to reply. Caterina was reaching into a drawer and taking out a soft leather pouch. “There are a hundred ducats here together with a ruby pendant worth ten times that amount. It should keep you very well until you find gainful employment.” She held out the pouch. “Well, take it. Did you think I meant to send you out in the world to beg or steal?”

  Sanchia reached out mechanically to take the purse. “Thank you. I’ll return the money as soon as I—”

  “It’s a gift, not a loan.” Caterina frowned. “Have the courtesy to accept it as such and say no more about it.” She came around the desk and strode toward the door. “Now set to packing. I’ll try to send your baggage to Messer Kalando this evening.” She opened the door and stood waiting for Sanchia to depart. “This is the wisest thing for you to do, Sanchia.”

  “I know it is.” Sanchia crossed the room and would have left the chamber if Caterina hadn’t stopped her by placing a hand on her arm.