Rose Red (35 page)

“I’ll see to it,” Valeria promised,
interrupting her friend with a smile that said she understood
Eleonora’s desire to be sure all would be in readiness should her
daughters require such help. “I will also have food available when
you, and the men-at-arms, return.”

“I am leaving three men to guard the villa
and the outbuildings,” Bartolomeo told his wife.

“We women who are left behind can defend
ourselves. You have taught us well, my dear,” Valeria said, smiling
into Bartolomeo’s eyes. She let her glance rest on each of the
other men in turn and, finally, on Eleonora.

“Come back safely, all of you, and bring our
girls home, too.”

Niccolo Stregone had decided he would go to
France. There was still time to retrieve his treasure, to do the
other deed he was determined to accomplish before leaving, and then
to make his way through the mountains before snow fell in the
highest passes. If he was clever, he could be safe in France while
his pursuers were stopped by the Alpine winter.

Stregone hated cold and snow. He hated
France, too. It was a dirty country, as he remembered all too well
from the one visit he had made there years ago. The French did not
bathe as often as Italians did, and their language was abominable.
Still, life in France was preferable to a painful death in Italy.
Stregone did not doubt that, if he remained south of the Alps, he
would not live much longer. He would be recaptured. It was
inevitable. Torture and a hideously painful public execution would
follow.

He had enough loot stowed away in his secret
hiding place to buy himself a comfortable life in France. He would
purchase a pleasant house and then make certain the servants he
hired kept it clean. He would insist the servants bathe regularly,
so they did not smell. He would burn only sweet-scented woods in
the wintertime, to keep his house warm.

Then, when he was bored, which would
certainly happen after he had been safe and at ease for a while
with nothing to occupy his mind, then he would work a little
intrigue, gain a bit of power, insinuate himself into the
confidence of some dim-witted nobleman until Stregone himself was
running the nobleman’s affairs. If he could do it once in Aullia
and twice in Monteferro and come away with his skin intact, he
could do it in France, and more successfully, too, since the French
were not as clever as the Italians.

He had returned to his native village with a
purse tucked away in his saddlebag. Few folk in the village
recognized him anymore, but they all knew the value of gold coins.
By making a donation to the local church he had engaged the good
will of the village priest, who in turn had chosen four sturdy,
honest young men to act as bodyguards on the journey through the
mountains. Assured of protection against the bandits who preyed
upon travelers in the highest passes, Stregone had only to load his
treasure onto the packhorses he had purchased and then lead the
horses back to the village. On the morrow, he would be off for
France.

There remained one other task. Before he left
Italy forever, Stregone intended to kill the two stupid females who
had almost found out his hiding place. Only recently had his spies
discovered who they actually were. There was a certain delicious
irony in knowing that the daughters of Girolamo Farisi had grasped
his hand to rescue him from the river and that, later, they had
been the ones to pull him out of the pool beneath that cursed
waterfall.

Stregone felt no gratitude for what Bianca
and Rosalinda had done for him. The wenches had to die. Though he
had temporarily lost the high position and the ready access to
powerful men that gave his life meaning, the deaths of Bianca and
Rosalinda Farisi would round off his days in Monteferro and Aullia
very nicely. Very neatly. Stregone always liked to tie up the loose
ends of any intrigue he devised.

The Sotani brothers would be heartbroken.
Stregone chuckled at that thought, then improved upon it. Nay, they
would be more than heartbroken. Vanni might well find it difficult
to hold power in Monteferro without Bianca Farisi by his side.
Stregone laughed to himself, knowing just how that impetuous boy
could be brought down and Marco Guidi restored. If Marco Guidi
still lived.

But no. The great Stregone, manipulator of
the lives of lesser men, would be far away in France, living a new
life. Marco Guidi would have to fend for himself.

The day was perfectly clear, which meant
there would be light until Niccolo Stregone, intriguer and proud
villain, had done all he intended to do and had led the horses
loaded with his treasure back across the Roman bridge and along the
straight, ancient road, deep into the mountains, to the village
where he had been born. He was certain that by the time the Sotani
brothers discovered his absence from Aullia, gathered their
men-at-arms, and made their way into the mountains, to Villa
Serenita, it would be too late for them to save the women they
loved, or to prevent the departure of their enemy from Italy.

Feeling almost happy, Niccolo Stregone kicked
the horse he rode, urging it to greater speed, certain that all he
wanted awaited him in the next valley.

“Let’s stop at the waterfall before we go
home,” Rosalinda suggested.

“Aren’t you tired?” Bianca asked. “I know I
am weary. We have ridden to that terrible rock-fall and to a lovely
meadow and I have listened to your romantic stories about both
places. I am sure if you knew where to find the cave in which
Andrea once sheltered, you would insist upon visiting it, too.”

“That is why we should go to the waterfall,”
Rosalinda answered. “All afternoon we have ridden where I wanted to
go. The waterfall is your special place, where you first met
Vanni.”

“All the more reason to stay away from it,”
Bianca muttered. “I am embarrassed to think of what I did there
with Vanni.”

“Don’t be embarrassed on my account. I have
long ago forgiven you. Come on, I’ll race you along the edge of the
meadow.” They were just moving out of the hills and entering the
flatter land, where it was possible to ride faster than on the
rocky mountain tracks. Rosalinda gave her horse a slight nudge with
her heels. “Come on, Bianca!”

“Oh, do stop!” Bianca cried. “You know you
should not ride so fast. What if you are thrown? Rosalinda, come
back!”

But Rosalinda was well ahead of her. Bianca
could see there was nothing for it but to follow her sister, and as
quickly as possible, in case Rosalinda needed her help. They raced
across the sloping ground, skirting the forest, keeping to the edge
of the meadow, until Rosalinda drew up, laughing and breathless, at
the place where the familiar narrow path wound its way into the
trees.

“Rosalinda, how could you do something so
dangerous?” Bianca cried. “Just think what might have
happened!”

“I am more concerned with what did happen,”
Rosalinda said. Her cheeks were flushed, and her hair was coming
undone from its braid. Moreover, her face was glowing with an inner
joy. “This babe of mine must be a son, who will love riding as much
as I do.”

“How can you possibly know that?” Bianca
asked, surprised by the tenderness and pride radiating from her
sister.

“Because he just kicked me to tell me how
much he enjoyed our ride,” Rosalinda answered.

“More likely, the poor mite was terrified
that his mother would be thrown and he would be lost,” Bianca
exclaimed. “Anyway, you can’t tell whether it’s a boy or a girl
-Rosalinda, did you say the baby moved? You felt it?”

“He was digging his heels into me the same
way I guide my horse.” Rosalinda rubbed the spot. “There has been
some slight fluttering before today, but I wasn’t certain what I
was feeling. These were his first hard kicks. Now I am sure he is
real. There is a small person here.” Looking down at herself, she
rubbed more gently.

“How wonderful. What joy for you to know it’s
a vigorous child.” Bianca’s delighted smile disappeared almost
immediately as a new thought took hold of her. “Once again, I envy
you, Rosalinda. I will never experience what you are feeling right
now.”

“Don’t be too sure. You know that old saying
Mother repeats so often, about the way Dame Fortune plays tricks on
us all, to upset the plans we make.”

“A fine trick of Fortune, indeed, if I were
to marry and become a mother,” Bianca murmured wistfully.

“Or even become a mother without marrying,”
Rosalinda teased.

“Don’t make jokes. Childbearing is serious
business. Rosalinda, you must not ride anymore.”

“You are right. I have thought too much of
what I want, and not enough about what the baby needs. After today,
I will remain peacefully at home. But for now,” Rosalinda said,
swinging a leg around and jumping to the ground, “since we are
here, and since it will be our last chance until next summer at the
very least, let’s visit the waterfall. I’m thirsty after our long
ride. Aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am, but it will be painful for me to
return to that spot.” Bianca stayed on her horse.

“All the more reason for you to go there. Lay
your grief to rest, Bianca. Say farewell to Vanni at the waterfall,
as I have been saying farewell to Andrea all during this
afternoon.”

“Is that what you’ve been doing? Truly?”
Bianca asked. Slowly, she dismounted, too.

“I know I will never see him again.”
Rosalinda’s lower lip trembled.

“Nor will I ever see Vanni.” Bianca’s voice
broke. Without another word, she took her sister’s hand and
together they started along the path.

The clearing was deserted, a quiet green
haven after the bright sunshine of mountain and meadow. The amount
of water gushing over the rocks and into the pool below was not as
great now, in August, as it had been in spring, when the streams
fed by melting snow had been in full spate. The moss on the stones
around the pool looked dry and brown in the places where the spray
no longer reached.

But the water in the pool was still cold and
sweet when the sisters knelt to drink from it and to splash it onto
their faces.

“What must it be like in winter, with the
water frozen?” Bianca wondered. “Vanni could never climb on those
rocks then.”

“Vanni will not climb on those rocks again,
at all,” Rosalinda said. “He will not come here again. He would not
dare, not after Mother sent him away and forbade him to
return.”

Bianca rose from her knees, her hand on
Rosalinda’s arm, dragging her sister up with her. She looked around
the clearing, noting with painful resolve the very spot where she
and Vanni had lain upon her cloak, where Vanni had touched her and
done wonderful things to her. Bianca could not regret what she had
allowed on that day, for it might well be the only taste of passion
she was ever to enjoy, but she knew the time had come to root her
inappropriate love for Vanni out of her heart. Only then could she
return to the contented life she had known before that impulsive
young man had disrupted her peace. Only after Vanni was completely
gone from her thoughts could she be of true service to Rosalinda
and her baby, both of whom were going to need Bianca’s loving help
for years to come.

“I do renounce Giovanni Sotani,” Bianca said
in a loud, ringing voice, speaking to trees and rocks, to the
waterfall and the clear blue sky, as well as to Rosalinda. “From
this hour onward, Vanni is no part of my life. I hereby dedicate
myself to my beloved sister and to our mother, to good works and a
circumspect life, until the day I die.”

“I don’t think you have to go quite that far,
Bianca,” Rosalinda said in a softer tone.

“I want to,” Bianca replied. “I meant every
word.”

“I know you did. But you will discover, as I
have, that it isn’t so easy to tear love out of your heart and
never think again of the one you love, especially in the middle of
the night, when you are lonely and wakeful and he isn’t there to
comfort you. The best you can hope for is to put love aside during
the daytime, so you are able to go on with the way of life you have
chosen.”

“And what of the night?” Bianca cried,
looking frightened. “What shall I do then if, in spite of my honest
efforts, I cannot rid myself of this love our mother has
forbidden?”

“At night, pray for courage,” Rosalinda said.
“It’s what I do.”

They stood hand in hand, both close to tears,
gazing at the clearing one last time until, on a mutual sigh, they
turned to go.

“Rosalinda?” Bianca said, her gaze on the
falling water.

“Yes, my dear.” Rosalinda paused at the edge
of the clearing, waiting for her sister.

“There is something behind the
waterfall.”

“What do you mean?” Rosalinda retraced a few
steps to stand beside Bianca.

“There isn’t as much water coming over the
edge of the rocks as there was in the spring,” Bianca pointed out,
“and so, if I stand just here, I can see through the falling water
to the space behind it. Look, Rosalinda. Stand here and you will
see it, too.”

“See what?” Rosalinda’s sharp eyes probed the
area Bianca indicated. “Bianca, that’s a cave. There is a cleft in
the rock behind the water.”

“Do you see that narrow ledge?” Bianca asked,
pointing. “If someone were very careful, and were small enough, he
could tiptoe along that ledge and get into the cave.”

“Perhaps,” Rosalinda said, considering the
problem of reaching the cave. She shook her head. “There is no way
to climb up to the ledge. It’s a sheer drop.”

“Not climb up,” Bianca said. “Climb down.
From the top of the rocks. See those cracks in the rock that are
just big enough to poke your toe into? And the tree roots sticking
out to make handholds? It looks possible to me.”