The Wind Dancer/Storm Winds

by Iris Johansen

  Luigi nodded slowly. “Agreed.”

  “Bellissima,” Lion said as Sanchia opened the door at his knock.

  Sanchia made a face. “At least I no longer smell of horse.”

  “I thought you would like to visit Elizabet and Bartolomeo this evening. Then we could sup at the tavern on the piazza. It will be more pleasant than eating here.”

  Sanchia brightened. “Could we? I was going to visit them tomorrow, but I would like to see them right away.”

  “And they will want to see you.”

  Her smile faded. “I’ll have to tell them about Piero.”

  “I’ve already paid them a short visit to advise them you were coming. I informed them of Piero’s death.”

  Sanchia felt a surge of warmth at his thoughtfulness. Then Lion gently took her arm in a protective clasp and escorted her down the hall. “You’ve suffered enough. Now it’s time to lean on me and let me take the burdens.”

  He was doing it again, she thought worriedly, treating her as if she were the helpless child Bianca had been. She must do something to put a stop to it.

  Yet after they had paid their visit to Elizabet and Bartolomeo she was passionately grateful to have his strength to lean on again.

  “What’s wrong?” Lion’s gaze was fixed anxiously on her face as he led her toward the piazza. “You seemed happy enough when you were with the newlyweds, but now you look …” He seemed to search for a word. “Melancholy.”

  “It’s nothing.” She felt the foolish tears brimming and determinedly blinked them back. “It’s stupid of me, but I suddenly feel … alone. Elizabet and Bartolomeo are so happy and busy with their own lives. They don’t need me anymore, do they?”

  “Didn’t you want it so?”

  “Oh, yes. I told you I was being foolish.” She walked faster, not looking at him. “I suppose it’s because I feel they’re now as lost to me as Piero.”

  “Sanchia.” Lion’s hand grasped her arm. “You’re not alone while you have me.”

  She swallowed. He was showing her that exquisite gentleness and sweetness again, as if she were a frail invalid who needed great care or she would slip away from him. Perhaps that was the way he did view her, she thought with sudden panic. What if he felt no passion for her, only guilt and responsibility?

  Suddenly, she saw where she must lead them.

  “You’re right. I’m not alone. I have you and Lorenzo.” She walked faster. “No, I don’t really have Lorenzo. No one has Lorenzo now. Except perhaps you. Do you think he does well in Rome? I did not like—”

  “It’s not only Elizabet and Bartolomeo, you’ve been acting strangely since we arrived at Giulia’s casa. If you wish to withdraw from the plan, only tell me and I will go another way.”

  “I don’t wish to withdraw. Why do you persist in thinking I’m afraid? I’m not afraid of Damari.”

  “Then what do you fear?”

  “Nothing.” She broke away from him and hurried on ahead. “And I’m not hungry. I think I’ll go back to the casa and go to bed. You go to the tavern without me.”

  “You should eat. You’ve had nothing since—”

  “I’m not hungry.” She was running, dodging through the crowds of people as she had when she was a thief in these very same streets.

  “Sanchia!”

  She ignored Lion’s shout and kept on running. She heard his steps pounding behind her on the flagstones but he did not overtake her until she was running up the stairs to the second floor of Giulia’s casa.

  His hand was rough on her shoulder as he spun her around. “What in God’s name is wrong with you? Are you ill?”

  “No, I’m not ill.” She pulled away from him and finished climbing the stairs. “I’m not weak or afraid.” She hurried down the corridor toward her chamber. “And I’m not going to shatter if you say a harsh word to me.”

  He had caught up with her again and his hand on her arm brought her to a halt. “That’s fortunate, for I’m about to say a number of harsh words.” His eyes were glittering with anger as he dragged her down the hall, threw open the door to his own chamber, and pulled her inside. “I do not deserve this, Sanchia.” He slammed the door. “I know your state is delicate but—”

  “My state is not delicate,” she said through her teeth. “How many times must I tell you? But perhaps you wish to think me delicate so you have the excuse not to touch me. Then you will feel free to summon Giulia Marzo here and—”

  “I don’t want Giulia in my bed,” he shouted.

  “Why not? You told me once that you would not touch me if she was near.”

  “I lied. I was angry that you stirred me so.”

  “But now I do not stir you with anything but pity. So why should you not take Giulia to your bed?”

  His hands hovered around her throat as if he’d like to strangle her. “Cristo, is this my reward for patience? You do not stir me? Madre di Dio, I even wanted to take you in the winery when you were helpless and grieving and balanced on the edge of madness. I, too, was grieving but my body did not recognize or respect that grief.” He dragged her into his arms, and her hands slid to his tight, muscular buttocks. “I’m so angry with you I want to beat you, but still I want you.” He pulled her into the hollow of his hips and she felt the hardness of his arousal against her. “Tell me, am I stirred, Sanchia?” He did not wait for her answer but lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed. “I do not want Giulia. I want you!”

  He tossed her on the bed and flipped up the skirt of her gown and undershift. He untied his points and his manhood sprang boldly free. He moved quickly between her thighs. “Does this feel as if I’m stirred, Sanchia?”

  He plunged deep, wildly grinding his hips to reach the quick of her.

  She cried out, her hands reaching out blindly to clutch at his shoulders.

  He froze. “Did I hurt you?” His fingers moved between them, petting her, arousing her. “It’s your own fault. Did I hurt you, dammit?”

  “No,” she whispered. “It’s only—”

  “Then take me.”

  The rhythm was wild, hard, almost brutal in its hunger and passion. Her head thrashed back and forth on the pillow as she attempted to keep from screaming with the intensity of the lust shuddering through every muscle and nerve in her body. She tried to help him but she was shaking too badly to do anything but hold him. He was trembling, too, she realized dimly, his breathing harsh, his chest moving in and out as if he were running.

  He cried out and threw his head back, his strong neck arching, his body going rigid as if he had been struck by an arrow. “Sanchia, I can’t hold—”

  “Don’t!” Her own pleasure exploded in a fiery release that left her stunned and weak.

  Minutes later she felt him leave her and carefully pull down her skirts but she was still too dazed to open her eyes. Something cold and metallic pressed against her lips. “Drink this; it will restore you.”

  She opened her eyes to see his set face above her. He was still angry with her, she realized dazedly. She raised herself on one elbow and took the silver goblet. “I have need of restoration.”

  He flinched. “You made me angry.”

  “I believe it. You weren’t gentle.”

  “It was your own fault,” he said fiercely. “What manner of man do you think I am? You could expect nothing else.”

  She took another sip of wine. “I remember you told me I must take you into me whenever you had need. At least, you didn’t push me up against a tree this time.”

  He scowled. “I suppose you’re going to try to leave me again. Well, I won’t permit it. If you want me to tear up your bondage papers, you must wed me.” He glanced away from her. “It will not be a bad life. If you do not anger me, I’ll try to be gentle with you.”

  “Wed you?”

  “Why are you surprised? I told you I would give you marriage if I could. Dio, we even spoke of children.”

  She shook her head. “I never thought of marriage for me. It seems
strange …”

  “Then think on it now. For I will not let you go.”

  She nodded solemnly, her lashes lowering to veil her eyes. “I shall think of it.”

  He frowned. “You’ve thought long enough. What say you? I’m no longer as wealthy as—”

  “Yes.”

  “You agree?” He gazed at her uncertainly. “You’re not angry with me?”

  She tried to smother a smile. “What would be the use? You would not change.” She paused. “Thank the saints.”

  His gaze narrowed on her face. “You do not mind my roughness?”

  She shook her head. “It is a part of you. I cannot separate the roughness from the gentleness. I cannot say ‘Yes, I will love this side of Lion Andreas, but no, I will not love the other side.’ I love the entire man.”

  A slow smile lit his face. “Truly?”

  “Truly,” she said softly. “I love the lust and the gentleness and the stubbornness and the—What are you doing?”

  “Undressing you.” His laughter was joyous. “I wish to give you more lust to love. We will deal with the rest later.” He met her gaze and said softly, “But this time we will take our time and I will also show you gentleness.” He grimaced. “If I can.”

  And Sanchia’s laughter joined Lion’s as she fell back on the bed and welcomed him once more into her arms and into her body.

  “Why did you do it?” Lion’s fingers were gently stroking the shining white lock at her temple. “I’m not a fool. I know you deliberately forced me to anger when I only wanted to show you I could give you honor and sweet words.”

  “I wanted to bring you back to me and it was the only way I could think to do it. I realized I was coming back to life and I wished you to travel the same road with me.” She paused. “And perhaps I was a little afraid. You were so different …”

  “Most women would have applauded the difference. Why would you be fearful of it?”

  She laughed shakily, and brushed her lips against his bare shoulder. “I am a slave. Slaves are not treated with gentleness and sweet words. It made me uneasy.” She paused. “For a while I even wondered if perhaps you felt it your duty to care for me because of the service I did at Mandara.”

  “Not duty—love. I honor you for what you did at Mandara, but I loved you long before.” He was silent a moment. “Will you wed me?”

  She raised her head to look at him in surprise. “Of course. I told you I—”

  “Now. We have time before Damari comes. We will go to the priest tomorrow and make the arrangements.”

  She gazed searchingly at him. His expression was taut, strained. “Why do you feel the need for such haste?”

  “I want you to be mine. Is that not reason enough?”

  And he wanted her to be protected by his name if by chance they were not successful in killing Damari, she realized, chilled. He wanted her safe, if death took him from her. Her cheek lowered to nestle in the hollow of his shoulder. “It is reason enough. I would like to feel you are mine also,” she whispered. “Yes, let us go to see the priest tomorrow.”

  “What do we do here?” Luigi asked testily. “The sun is too hot for strolling in the woods. I have no liking for all this greenery and fresh air.”

  “You have no liking for anything that you cannot brew in a pot or cauldron.” Lorenzo’s reply was absent as his gaze searched the trees and shrubbery on either side of the path. “I wonder how you ever came to beget a son. You like neither man, woman, nor beast.”

  “I concocted a fine mulled cider one night and imbibed so much the scullery maid appeared as appetizing to me as a glazed piglet with an apple in its mouth. She birthed Mario nine months later and left him in a basket in the kitchen when she ran away with a sailor. A father at my age!” Luigi mournfully shook his head. “I was so angry when I saw the babe that I burned the goose I was roasting.”

  “What a charming love story. It arouses not only pathos but also the palate. I’m sure you were a splendid father.”

  “I got used to it,” Luigi said in a growl. “After a time I even … liked it.”

  Lorenzo darted him a glance. “How old was the boy when he was killed?”

  “Seventeen.” Luigi walked in silence for awhile. “I talked to Simonedo about you yesterday.”

  “Ah, the illustrious master of the kitchen. What does he think of my work?”

  “He thinks your wits are addled. He says you sidle around the kitchen like a scared snake and never say a word.”

  “Well, you told me not to look at anyone. I thought it best not to speak either.”

  Luigi grunted.

  “You do not agree?”

  “Maybe. It’s true your tongue has the sting of a scorpion. Simonedo says you work hard enough, and he thanked me for my recommendation. What think you of the guard who watches the food preparation?”

  “An extremely sharp-eyed individual.”

  Luigi nodded. “Laraba has the eyes of a falcon. The Borgias have used poison often enough themselves not to be careful in choosing a good man, and with Laraba, we’ll have to be magicians in order to slip poison into the food.”

  “I agree.” Lorenzo had stopped, his gaze on a tall shrub abounding with clusters of delicate pale rose blossoms. “Is that not a pretty sight, Luigi? I wasn’t sure I could find this beauty here on the outskirts of Rome. In my own birthplace of Naples you see these bushes frequently, indeed they grew in my garden. Ah, how lovely it was to see the first flowering in spring. Hand me the hatchet.”

  Luigi scowled as he handed the hatchet to Lorenzo. “I don’t know why I had to carry the hatchet anyway.”

  “It was only sensible. You’re built like a bull and have a comparable strength. Why should I be the beast of burden when you’re far more suited to it?”

  “And now you’re taking the cuttings of silly bushes? I warn you, I’ll not let you plant them in my little patch of a garden. That’s only for my herbs.”

  “Luigi, I’m truly hurt you won’t share your plot of earth with me.” Lorenzo was quickly chopping several large branches from the bush. “Now what is better? A spot of blossoming beauty for the eyes or herbs and vegetables for the stomach?”

  “The stomach. You’ll not plant your stupid flowers in my garden.”

  Lorenzo sighed as he handed Luigi back the hatchet. “Oh, very well.” He gathered the branches up in his arms. “I guess I’ll have to find something else to do with them.”

  “I’ve sent the message to Damari,” Giulia said as soon as Lion opened the door in answer to her knock. “Santini is to deliver my letter. Caprino used him once before, so Damari will recognize him and perhaps feel safer.” She smiled. “Santini is one of the assets I acquired from Caprino’s demise. He’s a reliable man and trustworthy as long as an opponent’s bribe is not too great.”

  “We cannot ask more than that, can we?” Lion asked. “A bribe or a threat can be equally effective to control a wavering loyalty.”

  Giulia’s smile faded. “What is your meaning? Do you think to threaten me?”

  “Only if it’s needed.”

  Giulia’s gaze went past his shoulder to Sanchia, who still occupied the big bed across the chamber. Her lips tightened. “I see you will no longer have need of the other chamber.”

  “No.” Lion paused. “We go to the priest today. We plan to wed before the week ends.”

  “Wed?” Her eyes widened. “You’ll wed her? But why should you—” She quickly schooled her angry expression. “I suppose you must do as you think best.” She turned away. “I will tell you when I receive word from Damari.”

  “You’re getting twigs and branches all over my floor,” Luigi complained. “I won’t pick them up, you know.”

  “My dear Luigi, I’m well aware you keep nothing clean in this hovel but your pots and trenchers.” Lorenzo chopped another outcrop of lance-shaped leaves from the branch between his knees. “And I’m sure you’ll suffer no profound distress from the mess I’m adding to this disaster of a room.
”

  “I didn’t ask you to move in here.” Luigi added, “Mario kept the house clean. I tried to tell him it was unhealthy but he would laugh and say, ‘Papa, your fine food will have a foul taste if seasoned with dust. Come, we will spend the evening sweeping and polishing.’ “

  “And you’ve obviously done neither since he died.” Lorenzo tore off a delicate pink blossom from the branch and tossed it at Luigi, striking him on his cheek. “Admit that you like having me here. I give you someone on whom to vent your bilious spleen.”

  “I do not like you here. Why should I?” Luigi picked up the blossom and sniffed at it. “You’re not good company as was my Mario. You only waste my hard-earned money by burning my candles to read your fine books and speak only to make mock of me.”

  “But I also eat your delicious cooking with an appreciation you don’t encounter every day.”

  “That is true,” Luigi said grudgingly. “You’re no fool when it comes to the important things of life. Perhaps that’s why I tolerate you.”

  “Perhaps.” Lorenzo put the now denuded branch aside. “Hand me that other branch, will you?”

  Luigi pushed the branch toward him across the table. “But I will go for no more walks with you in the woods. I could have spent the morning in far more important occupations.”

  “I realize it was a great sacrifice for you.”

  “And for what?” Luigi stood up and began to gather the discarded twigs and branches from the floor. “To give you something to whittle.” He carried the bundle of branches to the hearth and dumped them on the stones.

  “What are you doing?” Lorenzo asked mildly.

  “I’m certainly not tidying up after you,” Luigi said quickly. “You can clean up your own mess. I only thought to save myself from carrying in fresh wood for the evening fire.”

  “A very practical thought.” Lorenzo lowered his gaze to the branch between his knees as he sliced off another twig. “But I really wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because, if you strike flint to those branches,” Lorenzo cut off another blossoming twig, “within a very short time we will both be conspicuously dead.”