Shadowheart (48 page)

He glanced up, scowling. “You mock me,” he said. “Or it is a trick.” He looked toward Franco Pietro. “You never agreed to this.”

The Riata narrowed his good eye. “No trick. I saw but disadvantage in the barring of our houses from marriage into the highest office of the Republic. It was a foolish act. As to the other—that you return covered in honors—” He shrugged, as if it were a trifle he disdained. “My son has asked it of me, as a boon.”

In the space between them, Matteo stood beside Nim, not looking up, stroking his hand hard through the dog’s thick fur.

She felt Allegreto’s arm tighten and work beneath her fingers. She saw what he thought. It was a strange proclamation. A ruse to bring him into the city where he could be arrested and even killed. This sham of celebration and feasting—they might do it; the marriage was completed, and it would be the only way to free her now for some alliance more useful to the council. It was the old way, the Monteverde that Cara had feared, that had made Allegreto what he was, that Prince Ligurio had fought and failed to overcome. Lies and treachery and murder behind the smile—as Raymond had smiled at her.

Allegreto stepped forward suddenly. The Riata touched the hilt of his sword; a ripple of motion and reaction that went through the men around.

In the taut silence wind blew a strand of Allegreto’s black hair across his face. He held out his hand. “Peace forever between our houses, Riata. I want it. Let the priest bring a Bible, and we will have it done this instant.”

Elena blinked. She stared at Allegreto.

He did not look anywhere but at Franco Pietro. He waited, with his hand held out across a lifetime of hatred, an abyss of suspicion.

The Riata made a sneer with his twisted lip. He reached out and gripped Allegreto. Their fists locked together. “Let it be done.”

Elena did not dare speak or even move, for fear of somehow altering their minds with the wrong word. But when the Bible was brought, and the priest stood between Allegreto and Franco, she found Lady Melanthe at her side. They stood and watched while Riata and Navona swore on God’s word that they were no longer enemies.

There was a silence after they spoke. The galliots bumped with hollow wooden thuds against the quay, moved by a rising wind. A few raindrops spattered over the ground. The clouds rumbled with thunder.

“I believe that is Prince Ligurio, looking down in wonder,” Lady Melanthe said, casting an amused glance at the sky. “I hope he will not shed tears of joy all over our feast.”

Matteo suddenly made a cheer.
“Bravo!”
he cried in his boy’s voice.
“Monteverde!”

Elena turned and knelt down and hugged him while he leaped and danced in her arms, hardly aware of Nim’s black nose at her cheek and the voices raised in jubilance around her.

Allegreto kept his gaze on Elena, avoiding any other encounter, still half-lost and uncertain of his place in this new circumstance. He watched uneasily as she received congratulations and honors and even embraces. When Prince Ligurio’s oldest councilor turned to him, reaching out to catch his shoulders, it was an effort to hold himself still and not reach for his dagger while the old man kissed both of his cheeks. But when the others seemed inclined to follow their senior’s example, Allegreto stepped back, unable even for courtesy to tolerate such close quarters.

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 is 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.”

“Aye, she is 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 is 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 furnishing 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 had not allowed Margaret or even Cara to attend her in the tower. She felt fortunate that the whole of the council had not decided to lend their dignified presences to the bedding. 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 balefully. “God spare us,” he muttered. “When did you sister learn to become amorous in her cups?”

“Oh, was she?” Elena asked airily. “I did not notice.”

“Only because I would not allow her to sit in my lap.” He pushed off from the door, looking at Elena as if she were to blame.

“I think she was a little—nervous.”

“No doubt she thought I would poison her wine. Although that did not prevent her from drinking a vat of it.”

Elena clasped her hands. “So you did not find your love for her revived?”

“Hellcat,” he said darkly, “I
will
poison her wine, if she does not 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 on the game boards painted on the top. 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 are 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 rifted 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 will come and torment me there.”

“Allegreto,” she whispered, looking up into his dark eyes. “I love you.”

“My heart is in chains, hellcat,” he said. He pulled her close, his hands in a merciless tangle in her hair. “If I had one.”