| |
Groggy with unfinished nightmares, Morena rolled over and came awake. Dawn had not yet broken. She climbed out from under the warm covers, washed and donned a linen kirtle, a light green under-tunic, and a warm woollen over-tunic of forest green. She settled in a chair at the window. Melancholy possessed her. She glanced at the deserted bedchamber, empty of her belongings, empty of Cristina and Silvia who must have awoken earlier to prepare for their departure.
She peered out of the window. Many lanterns hung from their posts.
Dozens of torches blazed in the hands of servants who scurried to load wagons with casks of food and provisions. Men carried spears, swords, and shields from the arsenal. They scrambled to equip themselves with arms and chain mail. Shouts and the stomp of feet resounded as men formed up, ready to march. Horses pawed impatiently and snorted and neighed at grooms who saddled and mailed them. The previous night’s discord with Ernesto remained forefront in her mind. One must take Ernesto seriously.
Morena sighed as she donned her mantle, pulled the hood over her head, and fastened the ties below her chin. The unwavering decision to depart came about with such suddenness. No time left to bid farewell to the loyal servants who cared for her family over the years. No opportunity to walk around the castle one last time. No moments remained to linger among the beds of roses she nurtured with such patience. Soon they would blossom. She would not be here to see them.
Yesterday, she stayed in her bedchamber for most of the day while Cristina and Silvia packed her chests. She wrote a letter to her father. She sealed the letter with wax and pressed her ring into it, and then propped it against a candle on the night table. When her father returned, he would find it and know the truth about what happened. She prayed for his understanding. Tears glistened when she turned to take a final look at the bedchamber where she grew to womanhood.
A sudden commotion and urgent shouts sounded from outside. She ran to the casement and looked down. A contingent of Genoese warriors, mounted on great warhorses, clattered into the courtyard. An open cart drawn by a team of bays followed. Morena tried to discern the cargo. She could not see beyond the sides of the cart.
A strange sombreness befell the group. One of the warriors, more ornately dressed than the others, dismounted . He must be the commander, Morena thought. The man handed his reins to a nearby groom and whispered something to a servant who broke into a run and disappeared from view.
Amoro appeared from the castle keep. A mantle the shade of midnight billowed behind him as he strode across the courtyard. The heels of his boots tapped against the rough stones as he made his way to the rear of the cart. The commander lifted a grey cloth.
Morena watched Amoro study the contents for quite some time before he reached inside. He remained fixed for what seemed like an eternity before he withdrew a large object wrapped in leather. He nodded to the commander to lower the cloth. An ominous silence hung in the air.
Her father’s shield! The unmistakable crest studded with rubies and gold coins set around a rearing unicorn upon a red mountain. Amoro looked up. His gaze skimmed past the walls until it stopped at her window.
His eyes met hers and held. A shiver of foreboding coursed through her body.
She blinked. The cart. Its contents.
She couldn’t breathe. She had to see inside the cart. She tore from the window and fled the room.
One of the duke’s guardsmen stood on the other side about to knock.
“My lady, Duke Amoro wishes to see you in the great hall.”
Morena turned to race down the corridor, but the guard grabbed her arm to stop her.
“My lady, do not to go to the courtyard.”
She shook her arm loose and ran. The guard followed close behind.
She lost her footing and staggered down to the wet cobbles at the bottom. She regained her balance and rushed into the crowded courtyard.
Amoro grabbed her arm. “Morena, wait.”
She struggled to wrench herself free. “My father.”
Amoro pulled her hard to his chest. “Not yet.”
“Please, I must.” She fixed her tear-blurred gaze on his. “Let me go.”
He held her steady while he led her to the back of the cart where the commander waited.
“I wanted to spare you this.” Amoro hesitated.
Morena’s heart lurched. “I must.”
Amoro nodded and the man raised the tarp.
Her father lay there, white with death, brown in dried blood.
Morena’s legs shook as she struggled to draw a breath. “The wound?”
“A knife wound.”
She fought back her grief. “What manner of man would do this to him?”
“I don’t know, but I swear that I will not rest until the man who murdered your father is found and punished.” Amoro placed a consoling arm around her shoulders.
“Leave me, please.” She wrenched herself free.
“I promise to have him attended to, Morena. Let me escort you to your bedchamber.”
“No, I shall see to him myself. It is my duty.” Detached and numb, her voice void of expression, Morena bid the various servants and guards who stood nearby. “Carry my father to the great hall. Bring warm water and dry cloths. Choose his best clothing and summon the bishop.”
No one dared to suggest otherwise.
Morena didn’t rest until she washed and dressed the body. When they carried her father to the chapel, Amoro pleaded for her to retire.
Later, in the privacy of her bedchamber, she wept.
Anguish poured forth in a relentless stream of pain until mercifully, no more tears came, and the blackness of sleep claimed her.
***
SEVERAL DAYS LATER, after the requiem mass and the burial, Morena knelt at the foot of the chapel altar. The flagstone floor numbed her knees. Puffs of white vapour rose from her mouth as she breathed her prayers. In this very spot, her father prayed. His presence haunted every corner.
Since his death, Morena found little time to lament. A string of messengers arrived with condolences from vassals and nobles. She greeted them with a strength she never knew she possessed. At the end of each day, here in the chapel, she found respite.
A large wax taper burned on a stand. Beside it, in a niche, a candle of devotion flickered for her father’s soul. Morena crossed herself, arose, and lit another candle for her mother, Vittoria Monterossa, who died in childbed.
No one remained of Morena’s family.
She struggled to come to terms with her father’s death and the future.
Amoro remained at her side. He looked after the details for the burial and responded to personal condolences from friends and family. In her darkest moments, his embraces never failed to comfort.
A feather-light touch tapped her shoulder. She whirled. Amoro took her in his arms.
“I wish these days were but a mere dream.”
“They will be soon,” he whispered.
Morena indulged in the warmth of his strong arms. “There is no past left for me.”
“You will always carry memories.”
“They must suffice. Little else remains of my life.”
He took her chin and tilted her head up. “Look at me, Morena. I can never be a part of your past, but I’m your future.”
“Are you, Amoro?”
“Have you not had proof of that?” he reproached. “Have I not honoured your father and yielded to your wishes at every turn? A room with a bolt on the inside of your door. Maidservants to share your chamber. You have my respect. You have all of me. You always will.”
His tone softened and he stroked the black silk of her tunic. “Accept me into your heart, Morena. I swear you shall never regret it.” He paused. “Come, it is late and you look tired. Let me see you to your bedchamber.”
They walked in silence for a while. Morena sniffed occasionally.
“I thought to give you time,” Amoro said as they approached the rounded door, “but I think it is best if we leave for Genoa soon. It is not safe to leave you here. Ernesto may return, especially if bride theft is his intent. My guardsmen shall protect your castle and servants will remain to keep it in good repair. We can return from time to time, after we are married.”
She studied his features. His eyes glowed with tenderness. Concern creased his brows. This time, when he spoke of marriage, Morena didn’t flinch. “Very well,” she whispered. Whether by force or by choice, no one other than Amoro seemed to care for her.
***
AMORO STOOD BESIDE Morena as she knelt beside two graves on the hill at the rear of the castle gardens. Her mother and father lay side by side beneath crosses of light grey stone.
The sight of her as she faced the harsh reality of her losses pained him. His heart broke for her, a woman so strong, yet so vulnerable.
He offered Morena his hand to help her rise. “Come, cara, it is time to go.”
She wiped her eyes on the back of her hand, blew a kiss to the two mounds, and whispered, “I love you, but I must leave you to your rest.”
She turned and faced him. Her gaze no longer appeared shaken or impertinent as it did when he first met her, but meaningful and familiar, as if she no longer found him fearsome. He hoped so. He wanted to be in her world, to care for her, to share everything. The thought ignited a profound feeling of protectiveness. Death brought them together, but he hoped love would bind them. Amoro placed his arm around her shoulders and gave a gentle squeeze before he led her away.
When they reached the courtyard, it gladdened him to see her smile at the sight of Silvia and Cristina standing at the rear of a large cart. Two servants heaved the last of Morena’s seven chests into the cart. He rolled his eyes in jocular exasperation. He had directed her to take one chest only. She refused. He said nothing out of respect for her grief. Her wilful, untamed spirit always impressed him.
He caught her staring at him with a small victorious smile. It pleased him to see a touch of light heartedness return to her features. “I’m happy to indulge you, my lady.” He bowed cheerfully.
Massimo waited to speak to him. As Amoro approached, Massimo broke out into a grin. “It appears as if all is ready. I wish you a safe journey.”
Amoro asked him to act as castellan. Massimo accepted.
“I suspect it is you who will need my good wishes, for I believe we have not heard the last of that pig-dog, Boccanera,” Amoro warned.
“Let the bastard try. I daresay we are ready for even the most challenging calamity with the extra hundred men-at-arms you have stationed here.”
“If there is anything you need, send word. Care well for this holding.” Massimo nodded and Amoro gave him a hearty pat on the back.
Morena crossed the courtyard and joined them. She looked pale again.
“I shall leave you to speak in private. Please excuse me. I have some final matters to attend to before we depart.” Amoro winked at Massimo and left him with Morena.
***
“I WONDERED WHEN I WOULD have a moment to bid you farewell,”
Massimo said with a grin that enhanced his handsome features.
“I could never leave without first saying farewell. You are like a brother to me.”
“And you, a sister.” Massimo paused. “Morena, I’m...all that has transpired saddens me. Umberto was like a father to me. I shall never stop trying to repay his goodness.”
Morena tried to swallow the lump in her throat.
“This may seem sudden, but Amoro is a good man, a far better choice for a husband than Ernesto. You must believe that.”
She could barely muster a nod.
Massimo embraced her. “The duke of Genoa is his own man. Over the past few days, I have observed him at close hand. He never left your side and spared no expense to lay Umberto to rest. He treats his men well and addresses each one by name, not only his personal guards, but your father’s men, too. He spends much time with them, answering their questions, helping them. The men respect and would fight to the death for him. Trust him.”
He enfolded her in his arms, a long familiar embrace born from their shared childhood. Morena wept. “Hush, it is time for you to go. I’ll always be here for you. If you have need of me, just send word.”
Massimo wiped away her tears. “Embrace your future.”
***
TWO STANDARD-BEARERS rode at the forefront of two columns of men.
The first carried Amoro’s crimson and black dragon standard. In the hands of the other flew the standard of Morena’s family, a white unicorn against a red mountain. Morena looked at Amoro.
“I hope I have pleased you.”
“You have. I thank you for it.” She graced him with a small smile.
Morena moved towards her mount, a grey mare with gentle eyes and black mane and tail, but Amoro stopped her.
“I thought you might enjoy riding with me this morning.” The tone of his voice left no opportunity to brook an objection. He led her towards his black stallion. “Allow me to help you mount.” Amoro lifted her onto his horse ahead of his saddle and adjusted her mantle around her. He mounted behind her and pulled his cloak around them both. The strength of his arms made her feel safe.
Guardsmen assisted Cristina and Silvia onto mounts of their own.
Amoro shouted a command to the guardsmen. He urged his horse into a walk and the entourage rode forth.
They traveled south through the countryside. The golden helmets of Amoro’s warriors, each laced with a nose guard, glistened in the cool morning sun. Their mantles of crimson and black trimmed with gold flowed like silk over the backs of their horses. The massive line of masculine protection in hauberks and chain mail, rode with battle shields slung over their shoulders. Lances raised and pennants snapping in the breeze, each man sat astride a horse with its own gilded armour.
They were an unwavering, well-organized group of warriors. Whenever they passed through a small town, villagers stopped to watch them pass.
Morena rode with her head high.
They stopped for lunch beneath a grove of olive trees near a shady meadow. A quaint stream meandered around a large rock and beneath a small bridge. She partook of a sumptuous repast of figs, olives, cheese, and bread spread on a cloth on the ground with as much pleasure as the others.
When they finished eating, Amoro leaned back against a tree.
“Would you like to stretch your legs and go for a short walk? There is something not too far from here I think you would enjoy.” He beamed a lazy smile.
“I would be pleased to.”
Amoro stood, offered his hand, and helped her rise. “It is in the orchard yonder.” He pointed to the other side of the stream.
Several of the men retrieved their weapons and began to follow.
Amoro bade them to stay back.
Amoro led Morena over the bridge and onto a small winding path.
They followed the tree-lined path for quite a while. Morena succumbed to the serenity of the surroundings. They came upon a craggy rock that poked up between ancient graves. Beyond lay a lovely old garden bursting with ancient Roman statues and mosaic stone seats. In the midst, a small fountain, green with moss and algae, sprinkled water. A large rock jutted skyward from the other side of the pond.
“Do you like it?” Amoro asked.
“It is beautiful.” A fathomless peace overcame her. “How did you find it? It is so far off the main road.”
“On our way home from hunting, my father always insisted we stop here. He loved it here. He believed the serenity lifted the burdens from his shoulders and cleared his mind of any confusion. We came here often.” Amoro pointed at the bench to the right of the fountain. “We would sit there on that very bench, talking together for hours, other times, not speaking at all.” Amoro led her to it and they sat in silence.
The reality of her situation struck Morena with immense clarity.
Amoro, wanted her, needed her. He showed her more kindness in such a short time than any other. She needed him near her because she cared for him very much.
She faced him, ready to share her thoughts, to thank him for everything he had done for her.
An abrupt gust of air blustered past. An arrow thwacked the tree behind them. Morena caught a flash of movement. She cried out a warning. Another abrupt blast of air and whoosh of an arrow.
Amoro hurled himself at Morena. His full weight bore upon her. He pressed her into the grass.
Morena’s world spun in a spectrum of colour. Nausea washed over her.
Amoro rolled off and away from her, but stayed low to the ground.
Several of his guardsmen searched the area.
“My lord, we heard you yell.” Roberto ran forth, hand on the hilt of his sword.
“Someone shot arrows at us.”
“We will find him. Wait behind that large rock until we deem it safe.”
Amoro took Morena’s hand and ran to the large rock on the other side of the pond. “Are you harmed?”
“No, but you are.” She slid a finger over his cheek.
Amoro ran his own fingers across the cut. The gash covered the length of a finger and bled profusely.
“I’ll live to see another day.”
“Amoro, those arrows were meant for you.” The shock forced Morena to her feet. She looked in the direction from where the arrows came.
He scrutinized the area as he pinned her next to him.
“Someone tried to kill you,” she said as she attempted to free herself from his grasp.
“It is neither the first time, nor the last,” he snarled. “And why do you think it is me the arrows were meant for?” His tone sounded lower, huskier.
Blood drained from her face. “You think the arrows were meant for me?”
An awkward pause ensued. “I am uncertain, but it is possible. We stood very close together.”
“Why would anyone want to shoot arrows at me or you?”
“I cannot be sure, but I intend to find out.”
Roberto approached. “Whoever it was is long gone,” he said.
“It’s safe now,” Amoro said as he stood. He pulled Morena to her feet and brushed dirt from her cloak. “Don’t speak a word of what just occurred to anyone. Promise me.”
“Why?”
“I can’t answer that. It is a gut instinct, nothing more.” Amoro brushed away the grime from his clothes and slid an arm around her waist. “Come, it is best to return to the others.” He took one more glance about them.
His boundless self-assurance comforted her. His tender whispers, the gentle strength of his arms, the unreserved allure of his masculinity. He took her hand in his and led her away from the little grotto in silence.
Morena turned one last time. She studied the ancient graves in the garden and the regal statues and fountain. A beautiful secret spot. Now the memory of someone who tried to kill them stained it.
“I think Ernesto attacked us,” Morena said.
“It is not the first time men have sought to kill each other over a woman.”
A shiver of revulsion coursed through her.
“Ernesto is desperate to discover the treasure of Monterossa Castle.
He will stop at nothing to get it. The surest way to the treasure is through you,” Amoro spoke in a low voice. He turned her to face him, his face a feather length from her own. “Monterossa Castle and its contents are yours. I’ll see that it remains so.”
She searched his countenance. His eyes never wavered from hers. “I believe you,” Morena replied. She tried to look away, but he put his hand on her cheek and turned her back to him.
“I want you.”
Morena exhaled a deep rush of breath and when she inhaled, his aroma, a mixture of leather and the outdoors filled her lungs.
“When I wake, you are my first thought. When I fall asleep, you are my last.” Amoro drew her shoulders against him so that her head tipped back and exposed the arch of her neck. “Morena, my body cries out for you as if I was fighting for breath.”
“How can I be certain you are different than Ernesto? You are a collector of ancient jewels. Such a discovery would add to your collection and increase your wealth.”
He exhaled his exasperation. “Even after all that has transpired, you still harbour doubts?” His gaze moved over her. “My reasons for wedding you are different from Ernesto’s. He cannot refrain from indulging in games of chance. As a result, he is near destitute and his serfs and fief suffer because of it.”
“No wonder Ernesto wanted to marry me. I didn’t know that.”
Morena fixed a hard look on Amoro. “What are your reasons?”
Amoro inhaled and swallowed. “You already know.”
“So I’m nothing more than a means to fulfill a vow you made to your father?” Renewed anger tore through her.
“Until the first time I saw you that was true, but in the short time that I have come to know you, I’m certain in my heart you are my future. Far more than my father’s dying wish draws me to you. An extraordinary intensity exists between us. You feel it too. How can you doubt my motivations when they are more honourable than those of Ernesto's are? You cannot marry him. There is something wrong with the man.”
“When Ernesto was born, it is said the midwife dropped him and this made him silent and less talkative than other children.”
“And now?”
“What do you mean?” Morena asked.
“If those arrows belonged to Ernesto, he has tried to kill one of us.
That changes everything.”
“I understand.” She turned and walked away.