The Wind Dancer (26 page)

He abruptly sat up, threw back the coverlet and got out of bed. He would dress and go for
a walk on the battlements and look out over Caterina's kingdom of Mandara. He would
walk until he grew tired enough to return to his chamber and sleep.

But he would not think of Caterina.

"Sanchia."

Sanchia jerked upright in bed with a low cry, her gaze wildly searching the chamber.

"Dio, it's only me. I didn't mean to frighten you."

Lion's voice. Lion's big frame silhouetted against the pearl-gray light streaming through
the door leading to the balcony. Her relief was suddenly followed by tension. "What do
you do here?"

"I'm going to Florence. I just wanted to make sure you were well." His hesitancy in
speaking, his awkwardness of movement puzzled her. "I'll return within the week.
Lorenzo will care for you while I'm gone and see to your needs."

"I need no one to care for me and you may be sure I'll make every attempt not to be here
when you return." She clutched the coverlet to her chin, her tone hostile. "Why shouldn't
I be well? You've put me in this fine house, filled with fine tapestries and silver
ornaments. You've given me a servant to see to my needs. In payment all I have to do is
kneel on the floor and let you thrust into me as Giovanni did my mother. How truly
fortunate I am."

"At the moment the thought of you on your knees brings me a good deal of pleasure,"
Lion said harshly.

"I will not kneel to you. Go home to that poor woman you call wife. She seems eager to
do your bidding."

He stiffened. "Bianca has nothing to do with what is between us. It's foolish even to
speak of her."

Sanchia felt a sharp pang knife through her. "Why not? She seems a sweet, kind lady. Do
you not feel shame at bringing me here to hold her up to humiliation?"

"I had no choice."

"You had a choice. You have it now." The words tumbled from her lips in a wild, fierce
stream. "Let me go. Do you think I don't know what the men of your family use this
house for? I'm not an ignorant child like your Bianca. I understood what Lorenzo meant.
Your father used this place to house his whores and now you use it to house yours. Well,
I'm not a whore and I won't be--"

"Hush." He was suddenly kneeling beside the bed. "Cease, I tell you." His hands gripped
her bare shoulders and the sudden hard warmth of his palms sent a shiver through her.
"You are not my whore." His voice was hoarse, tormented, "You are my... " He stopped.

"What? Your slave?"

"
Cristo
, I don't know," he whispered. "I don't know anymore. But I must have you near. I
don't think I would have left you in Genoa even if you hadn't threatened to run away."
His hands kneaded her bare shoulders yearningly. "Let me look at you. God, it seems a
long time since I looked at you."

She caught her breath as a wave of heat tingled through her. "No."

"Yes." One hand left her shoulders to jerk the coverlet down and away from her body and
then returned to her shoulders to hold her immobile while his gaze ran lingeringly over
her. "Do you remember in the barn when I came into you and--"

"I'll fight you." She could feel her breasts swelling beneath his gaze, ripening, the nipples
hardening. No, she must not feel this. In that direction lay a captivity more certain than
the bill of sale he held in his possession. "Loose me, Lion."

"In a minute." His head bent slowly to her breasts. "Look how hard and sweet these buds
are now. They want attention." His lips enveloped her left breast and he drew on it gently
and then more strongly. She gave a low cry, swayed, held upright only by the hands on
her shoulders. His lips moved to the right breast and he gave it the same attention. His
head lifted, his lips releasing her. "Mine."

"No."

He rubbed his broad cheek back and forth across her breasts with a yearning movement.
"Yes." His left hand moved down her body to cup between her thighs as he had in the
barn at the farm. "Always."

She closed her eyes as the warmth exuding from his callused hand caused the muscles of
her stomach to clench and spasm. He began to rub slowly, teasingly. "Do not do this. It is
not my will." She added haltingly, "You... shame me."

His hand stilled. She heard the harsh sound of his breathing in the silence of the room.
Then his hand was no longer between her thighs and he was releasing her.

Her eyes opened to see him rise to his feet, a massive shadow in the predawn gloom. He
moved swiftly across the room to the door and tossed harshly over his shoulder, "Cover
yourself."

She drew the coverlet over her, her gaze fixed in bewilderment on his broad back. He had
wanted her. She had been sure he would ignore her words and take her. Why had he not
done it?

"My mother may come here and try to drive you away." He opened the door. "She does
not want you here for reasons of her own. You must not let her words hurt you. I will
deal with her when I return."

"It's natural that she wishes to protect Bianca."

His lips twisted cynically. "It's Mandara she wishes to protect." He turned at the door. "I
cannot blame her for fighting for what she wants. Life has not been easy for her. We all
must... " He trailed off, looking at her. "Will you wish me a good journey?"

"You don't need my good wishes."

He flinched, and then shrugged. "You're right. I have done very well without them until
now." He started to turn. "Goodbye, Sanchia."

A thread of pain ran beneath the carelessness of his words, waking a strange echoing
ache within Sanchia. Her hands gripped the coverlet hard to keep back the words he'd
asked of her. They came anyway. "Good journey, Lion."

He stopped and stayed framed in the doorway for an instant. Then he quickly shut the
door behind him.

Sanchia sank back against the pillows and turned on her side, gazing at the door leading
to the balcony. Her breasts were swollen, the aureoles of her nipples still distended and
aching. Santa Maria, she didn't want to feel lust burning through her. It was as
unwelcome as the tenderness she felt for him. As unwelcome as the impulse she'd had to
call him back.

Sweet Jesus, how she had wanted to call him back.

The winds of dawn blew crisp and cold on Lion's face as he rode out of the gates of the
city.

He needed that cold, Lion thought grimly, as he put Tabron to a gallop. He gazed blindly
at the sky now turning from pearl to palest pink. Why had he stopped? Unwilling or not,
her response had been as strong as his own and he would soon have been able to quench
her resistance.

Why had he not done it?

This inner conflict had to end. The emotions Sanchia aroused in him were like nothing he
had ever felt before, alternating between lust and a strange, wistful tenderness. It was all
madness.

He must think. He must find a way to resolve his dilemma and put an end to this lunacy
with Sanchia.

"You no longer have the Wind Dancer?" Borgia asked softly. "I believe I cautioned you
about offering it to anyone else, Damari. My father has written expressing interest in it...
such interest he informs me of his plan to travel to Cesena to inspect it. I don't intend to
disappoint him."

"You will not disappoint him, Your Magnificence," Damari said quickly. "If you'll but
write him to delay his trip for a few short weeks, I'm sure we will be able to retrieve the
Wind Dancer."

"We?" Borgia smiled. "You expect my help? If my help is given, then no further payment
is required. Is that what you wish?"

Damari felt the frustration and rage rising in him and sought desperately to control his
temper. "Andreas managed to get the statue back through no fault of my own. My
information is that it has been returned to Mandara. My condotti is small and the city
well guarded. If you could just let me have the service of the forces you've quartered in
Cesena, I could--"

"My God, are you mad? I'm surrounded by rebellion and discord here in the Romagna.
You wish me to lend you an army when it might mean putting down an insurrection here
when you deign to return it?" Borgia shook his head. "You offered me a bargain and I
hold you to the terms of it. You supply the Wind Dancer and my father supplies a
dukedom."

Damari's eyes widened in excitement. "The holy father agreed to my terms?"

"I told you he had expressed interest." Borgia smiled. "But if you cannot furnish me with
the Wind Dancer, perhaps I'll go after it myself. After the Romagna is completely secure,
I could launch an attack on Mandara."

"No!" Damari said sharply. "The statue is mine."

"Then bring it to me."

"I must have time to make plans."

"I'll write my father that there's been a slight delay," Borgia told him. "Only a
slight
delay. In five weeks' time I go to Rome with either the Wind Dancer in my hands or you
by my side to explain to him why I don't have it in my possession. Tell me, Damari, have
you ever been to Rome?"

Damari shook his head. "I have not had that pleasure."

"A magnificent city with a lovely river winding through it. Perhaps you've heard that my
own dear brother was found floating in the river Tiber with many knife wounds in his
body. No one has ever determined who tossed him into the water since little attention is
paid to such an act. So common an occurrence in Rome." He paused. "Do I make myself
clear?"

"You always make yourself clear, my lord."

Borgia turned away contemptuously. "Then you may go, Damari."

He was being dismissed like the lowliest lackey. Damari smothered the venom rising
within him and forced himself to bow courteously. "Be assured I'll find a way of
obtaining the Wind Dancer with no trouble or expense to you. My apologies for
suggesting you aid me, my lord duke. I was only concerned for the disappointment of His
Holiness."

"You'll gain my forgiveness when I have the Wind Dancer. I expect you here in five
weeks' time."

"I'll be here." Damari, bowing obsequiously, backed from the room.

He abruptly straightened after he had closed the door, standing quite still while he fought
the bitterness boiling through him. Only a short time ago it had been he who had
controlled both Borgia and the pope. Now he was no longer the duke's equal but
subservient once more.

And he had come so close!

No matter. He would regain his power and status as soon as he reclaimed the Wind
Dancer. There would be no more bowing and scraping once he had what Borgia wanted.

But how to get it?

Bribery had succeeded once, but it was doubtful that Andreas would allow even the most
trusted servant close enough to steal the statue again. Damari would be foolish to launch
his small condotti against Mandara in the vain hope that luck would carry the day.
Andreas was too able a commander and Mandara too strong a fortress to fall without
overwhelming numbers launched against it in the field.

Not bribery. Not force. The elimination of both weapons meant he would have to wait
and study the situation to find a way to overcome the disadvantages he was facing. In the
meantime, a spy could be insinuated into the town, if not into the castle itself, and surely
he would be able to think of something before the five weeks Borgia had given him
expired. He had not raised himself to his present status by lacking in imagination.

Damari descended the stone steps to the courtyard where a lackey was holding the reins
of his horse. Swinging up into the saddle he noted the sky was leaden, clouds roiling,
scudding with the wind preceding a storm. He was going to get a wetting before he
reached shelter but he refused to go back to Borgia and beg to stay.

He lifted his head and smiled as a gust of moist wind touched his cheeks. Besides, he
would not mind riding through the rain. The fact that the storm was heading north was a
good portent. Mandara lay due north, safe and snug and arrogant in its small world.

And a storm was coming to Mandara also, as soon as he thought of a way to send it
thundering over Lion Andreas and his bitch of a mother.

And the little slave, Sanchia.

He'd been startled when Andreas had launched an attack on Solinari to get her back.
Clearly she was important to his foe.

Yes, he'd have to be sure his plans for the future held a prominent place for the slave girl.

I do not wish to look at one more piece of goods," Sanchia said firmly as she turned away
from the shop of a leather craftsman.

Lorenzo halted as he saw the determination on Sanchia's face. "Oh, very well. We've
bought many lengths of fine fabric, the dressmaker has your measurements now, and she
can work 'round the clock without you. Still, I do not understand you in this. You are not
behaving with the enthusiasm I thought you'd show, considering your former
deprivation."

"I must be careful not to take too much," she said soberly. "It would be foolish to become
accustomed to riches that can never be mine."

"How depressingly sensible. They could be yours if you'd be amenable."

She shook her head, beginning to walk across the square toward her house. "I won't stay
here longer than I have to do so."

"Why not? Mandara is a very pleasant place to live. Ask anyone. Lion has built many
things of beauty, while he levies few taxes, and his laws are strict but fair. Lady Caterina
makes sure the poor are fed and the sick are cared for." He smiled. "Why should you
want to go back to Florence when Mandara can give you so much?"

"I may not go back to Florence. I don't know where I'll go, but I won't stay here." She
met his gaze. "And you know why, Lorenzo."

"None of us is really free, Sanchia."

"I'd like to see if I could prove you wrong. I don't know anything but servitude and I'll
have to learn the way of freedom. When I first awoke on the ship I thought everything
was so clear and that I was strong enough to shift the world." She shook her head
ruefully. "But now I realize it's as if I have just been born and have to learn everything
from the beginning."