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Maidservants bustled about Morena. Fine jewels, elegant gowns, and bottles of fragrant oils filled the women’s arms. Cristina and Silvia, not permitted to assist, watched.
The women wrapped her body in a silvery-white fabric. A brooch held the garment in place over one shoulder and left the other bare. The cloth clung to her waist and hips. Dark brown tresses cascaded down her back in a mass of curls. Magnificent jewelled combs pinned loose strands. A chain of silver hung from her waist. The servants fastened golden bracelets around her wrists and ankles. They placed a long azure mantle over her shoulders and stepped back to appraise her.
Apprehension gripped her. The preparations must somehow relate to her marriage to Amoro. Her anger at the discovery of that woman in his bed still simmered. She longed to unleash her wrath.
After she burned Amoro’s bedding, these maidservants began the unexplained preparations. They said little else. The servants looked at her with respect and a certain amount of awe, no doubt because of the gossip arisen. She didn’t know when she would see Amoro next, but she hoped it would be soon. An irrepressible need to screech at him possessed her.
Morena departed from the chamber with two guardsmen at her side.
They passed a lavish marbled hall at the end of which stood a large wooden door. Morena stopped to gaze at the forms of horses, lions, and mighty warriors carved into the polished fascia.
The subdued hum of women’s voices set her heart to beat faster. She inhaled deeply, more to recover her nerves than to take in air, and waited. One of the guards swung the heavy door open. Women dressed in an array of vibrant tunics, coloured wimples, and veils in sea greens, blues, crimsons, and yellows occupied the room.
At Morena’s appearance, heads turned. Chatter ceased. Dozens of eyes scrutinized her from head to toe.
Rays of sun infiltrated the room through large windows at either end.
Torches glowed from golden sconces. Vivid light danced off golden goblets. Abounding platters of fruit and sweet treats graced each trestle.
The brilliance of the room caused Morena’s eyes to water. She blinked to clear her eyes and waited.
Morena noticed a closed door on the left side of the room. From another much larger arched door on the right side, an old woman, more hunched and wrinkled than any Morena had ever seen, entered. She wore a scarlet wimple and veil. A long tunic of red and gold trailed behind her. Between gnarled fingers, she carried a long wooden staff, carved and polished. Duchess Caterina, dressed in the sombre colours of mourning, followed.
An unusual aura of expectation filled the room. It seemed to take forever for the two women to reach her, but when they did, Morena curtseyed to the duchess and bowed her head to the old woman. The smile on Caterina’s face told her she had acted correctly.
Caterina took Morena’s hand. A gentleness absent the night before softened her eyes. “My late husband chose you for my son. On the day of the wedding, you will be granted the title of duchess.” A small smile curved her lips. “In Genoa there is an ancient, but honoured custom. It is a small, dignified ceremony, traditional. I hope you will indulge us.”
Morena nodded.
Caterina gestured to the old woman beside her. “This is Donna Smerelda, our most knowledgeable healer. Many of the women in the room are also healers who learned the herbal arts from her.” Caterina paused. “She is here to verify your maidenhood.”
Morena’s cheeks burned.
“Don’t be angry or embarrassed, cara. All duchesses of Genoa have participated in it, including me. There is nothing to fear.”
“We have no such tradition in Portovenere,” Morena breathed in a rush of trepidation.
“It is a tradition passed down through the centuries.” Caterina narrowed her eyes. A tone of suspicion edged her voice. “There is nothing to fear if you are in a virgin state. You are still a maiden, are you not?”
Morena stiffened. “My virtue is intact.”
Caterina smiled. “Then there is no impediment to continue?”
“No, there is not.” Morena swallowed.
“Very well, let us begin.” Caterina stepped back. She took a seat at a nearby trestle.
Smerelda faced the room. “Women of Genoa, it has been many years since we have celebrated a marriage.” She cast a brief, but warm look at Caterina before continuing. “It is with great pride that we do so on this auspicious day. It is my honour to verify the virtue of this woman.”
The crowd fell silent.
Morena’s stomach fluttered.
Smerelda took Morena’s hand and led her to the small door. She removed an old key that hung from a chain around her neck and unlocked it. “Watch your head,” she warned as she led Morena through to the other side.
Inside, plump lace pillows decorated a small bed. Smerelda closed the door behind them. “Please lay down, Contessa,” Smerelda gestured. Reassurance sparkled in her eyes.
Morena sat on the edge of the bed and lay back. Smerelda’s eyes lit up at the sight of the bloodstone amulet. Morena felt her cold fingers against her neck as she raised the gem.
“Never before have I seen such a beautiful bloodstone.” Smerelda turned the stone about. She caught it in the light and leaned close to examine its details. “It is near crimson with splatters of blood. By virtue of its beauty, this bloodstone’s powers are stronger than usual. Are you acquainted with its strengths, child?”
“It is supposed to protect during childbirth to quell bleeding.”
Morena’s thoughts flowed back in time to her mother who died at her birth.
Smerelda released the bloodstone. “It is also the ‘stone of the warrior’. It calms fear and brings courage in battle. When in dangerous situations, it gives strength of mind, firmness of purpose, and confidence.”
“What other virtues does the stone possess?” Morena raised herself on her elbows.
“It assists with matters of the heart.”
“I don’t understand.”
“One day you will. When your heart speaks to you, hold the gem in your hand. It will give you the answer you seek.”
Morena took hold of it, its cool smoothness so familiar. “There are rumours of its magical powers too.”
“What kind of magic?”
“When thrown into water, the bloodstone will turn the rays of the sun red. Magicians also claim that when worn, the stone can make one invisible in times of danger or when one does not wish to attract attention.”
“All my life I have worn it. Nothing like that has ever happened. I never remove it.”
“One day you must, child. You will know when the time is right. In the meantime, be wise and recognize when to give it to someone in need. When a bloodstone loses its power, the red spots will turn to white. Then you must return it to the earth.”
A few moments of silence lingered while Morena pondered the healer’s words.
“Please lay back down. We must complete that which we are here to do.” Smerelda adjusted the pillows around Morena’s head and unpinned Morena’s brooch with her gnarled fingers. She placed the jewel aside, took a fold of Morena’s makeshift gown in each hand, and spread it open. The old woman’s eyes roamed over every inch of her naked body in assessment. The healer covered her with a white linen sheet and walked to the end of the bed. “Rest easy, child. This will take but a brief moment. Don’t be embarrassed. It is nothing more than noble protocol.”
Morena acquiesced and braced herself. She scrutinized the old woman’s every movement.
Smerelda lifted the sheet and peeked beneath it.
Morena kept her eyes fixed on the ceiling, her lips clenched, her hands fisted as the healer probed her womanhood. She stiffened at the invasion.
It seemed as if an eternity passed. Smerelda removed her hand and lifted her head. She replaced the linen sheet and smiled. “You are intact. Splendid. Duchess Caterina will be pleased.”
“What would transpire if the examination revealed otherwise?” Morena asked.
Smerelda responded with a wink and a grin. She adjusted Morena’s gown and led the way back to the waiting women.
The room fell silent at their reappearance.
“I declare Contessa Morena of Portovenere a maiden, suitable to wed Duke Amoro.” Smerelda said with a smile.
The women exploded in jubilance and embraced each other.
Caterina approached. Her eyes brimmed with tears. She embraced Morena. When she pulled away, a warm smile graced her face. She offered Morena her hand and whispered, “Congratulations. I’m so pleased for you.”
With Caterina on her left and Smerelda on her right, they faced those gathered.
Smerelda cleared her throat. “Morena of Portovenere, you have been proven a true maiden. This portion of the ceremony is sacred to our people. You must treat it with solemnity. Do not take the questions I ask you lightly. Respond with careful thought.” She paused and began again. “Morena of Portovenere, I ask you. Are you pure?”
Morena answered without faltering, “Yes.”
“Do you wish to wed Duke Amoro of Genoa?”
Morena hesitated. Her fury at Laria survived at the forefront of her every thought. The vision of that woman in Amoro’s bed re-ignited her fury. How could she trust a man who told her he wanted her one moment and took another to bed the next?
A silence, heavy with tension, stilled the room.
“Contessa?” Smerelda raised her eyebrows.
Caterina leaned over and whispered to her. “Accept the oath, cara.”
“I can’t,” she whispered. Her face flamed. “He has a mistress.”
Caterina leaned closer and whispered. “Don’t be fooled by that shrew, Laria. My son tired of the dalliance. She means nothing to him.”
Morena searched Caterina’s face. Therein existed a mother’s faith and love, kindness and honesty. It touched an unfulfilled need deep within her. If she accepted, Caterina would be the mother she never had. Her thoughts raced, doubt infiltrated her heart. Did she still wish to wed Amoro? Could she believe the duchess? Flashes of Amoro’s smiling face and determined efforts to win her heart filled her mind.
“Morena, accept the oath,” Caterina whispered, “I understand why you hesitate. I promise you things are not what they seem.” Her mouth thinned with displeasure. “Laria was up to her old tricks. I doubt she will bother you or my son again.”
“I hope so.” Morena whispered.
Smerelda exhaled her pent-up breath. With a look of relief, she continued. “Do you wish to accept the duties of Duchess of Genoa?”
“Yes.”
“Duke Amoro, son of Genoa, has declared his desire to wed you. Once wed, nothing can reverse your union. Nor can the deeds or proclamations of others negate it. Again, I ask you. Do you wish to marry Duke Amoro?”
Caterina cast a heart-warming smile.
“Yes.”
“Do you promise to hold yourself apart from all others, save from Duke Amoro for all time?”
Will Amoro hold himself apart from all others for me? Yes, he will, even if I have to see to it with every shred of determination I possess. “Yes.”
“Do you promise to give yourself freely to him?”
Morena hesitated. The crowd waited. Caterina smiled at her, but gave no prodding. She waited for Morena to speak her mind.
“Yes,” Morena said at last.
A look of approval came alive in Caterina’s eyes.
“You are a noblewoman of Genoa, not just in name, but in spirit. I invite you to join us to celebrate.”
The room broke out into spontaneous applause. Some of the women left their chairs and swarmed about her with felicitations. Blood pounded in her ears. Heat ignited her blood. A swirl of emotion threatened to sweep her away. Although uncertain whether Smerelda’s words were ceremonial, the thought of belonging to a family again brought a sense of security. As for Amoro, well, she would address him later.
***
LARIA WATCHED THE CEREMONY from the back of the room, disguised beneath wimple and veil. She seethed at the successful results. Jealousy inflamed her at the declaration of Morena’s virginity. She had stared hard at Morena to induce her to return the gaze. She wanted her to know that she existed, that she would avail herself to Amoro always, but their eyes failed to meet. If she could see Amoro once more, offer him her body, perhaps she could coax him back. She had bedded him many times. He proved to be an astonishing lover, brazen and vigorous, keen to satisfy. His burliness appealed to her. So did his vigour. No other man attended to all her needs. Amoro knew what he wanted and went after it with gusto. She grew desirous at the thought of him.
Laria compressed her lips. Everyone praised Morena’s kindness and beauty ever since she arrived. It infuriated Laria.
She sipped her wine. A plan formed in her mind and she smirked.
Careful to remain unnoticed, she left her goblet, the wine unfinished, and made her way through the crowd.
***
THE CEREMONY ENDED and the women disbursed. Morena wrapped her mantle around her and departed the chamber. Two maidservants approached her in the corridor. “Contessa, Duke Amoro wishes to see you.”
Morena pursed her lips. “Now?”
“Yes, Contessa.”
No doubt, Amoro has learned of the burned bedding. Time to confront him.
“Very well.”
“Follow me, please. We must not be late.”
Morena bit back a retort. The woman escorted her through roomy passages and ample archways. Servants, both male and female, directed looks of admiration at her when she walked by.
They arrived at a large courtyard open to the skies. Several benches sat between rosebushes and manicured shrubs. In the centre stood a fountain of a well-muscled Roman god carved from marble. The exquisite form stood in naked splendour except for a large green leaf that covered its maleness. He carried a pitcher from which water poured into a large round basin at his feet.
“Duke Amoro will be with you soon.” The maidservant left the courtyard.
Morena settled on the bench and studied the sculpture. The sound of running water soothed. More than pleasant to contemplate, the unknown sculptor had chiselled the life-sized statue from pure white marble. Large curls framed a handsome face. From the broad chest to the muscular stomach and loins, Morena could not help but speculate at the identity of the model that posed for the sculptor. The leaf puzzled her. Its greenness suggested a material other than marble. She approached with hesitant steps. Morena leaned over the basin for a closer look. Tiny hinges caught her eye. It appeared to be made of wood. A wicked thought entered her mind. Morena leaned to touch the leaf, but could not reach it. She placed her hands and one foot on the basin ledge. She brought her other foot up and stood, careful to maintain her balance.
When she gained her equilibrium, she reached for the leaf. She lifted it, ready to peer at what lay hidden beneath.
A large bell suddenly tolled. The loud peals resounded with urgency.
Morena lost her footing. She toppled into the basin, landing hard on her posterior. The cascade of water from the pitcher poured over her head.
“Do you require assistance?”
The water marred her vision, but she recognized the rich voice.
Before she could respond, brawny arms seized her waist, heaved her to a burly chest, and lifted her with ease from the midst of the fountain. The moment she placed her weight on her ankle, throbs of pain forced her to grimace.
“I believe I’m capable of standing on my own.” Morena’s chest rose and fell in agitation. With exaggerated dignity, she brushed away a drenched lock of hair that clung to her cheek and lips.
“You are hurt. Let me help you,” Amoro declared. His eyes dropped to her bosom as her chest heaved.
Her face burned. She smoothed the mantle and gown that clung to her and crossed her arms over her breasts.
Amoro placed his arm around her and aided her to a nearby bench.
“Allow me to examine your ankle.”
She sank onto the bench. Amoro lifted her foot and positioned it on his lap before she could utter an objection. He raised her gown and bared her wounded ankle. Gently, he probed the tender area. Her face burned at the intimacy of his touch.
“It does not appear broken, but it swells and will pain you for a few days. Nothing for you to worry about.”
“Thank you.”
“Was it worth it?”
His question caught her off guard. “Was what worth it?”
“You know, that which lies beneath the fig leaf.” He grinned so mischievously that both rows of his white teeth showed.
“I, I didn’t anticipate this,” she answered as she tried to brazen it out.
Then she understood. The fig leaf, the bell, the two were connected. Her cheeks burned.
She felt the heat of his gaze. It roamed past her wet lips to the length of her neck and to her breasts, clearly visible because of the transparency of the saturated cloth that clung to her body like a second skin. Without warning, his mouth bore down on hers in an impulsive kiss.
It infuriated her. Morena writhed in an attempt to break free of his feral possession. Resistance seemed to encourage him. He deepened the kiss. She pressed his chest. He loosened his grip, raised his head, and gaped at her. Morena crossed her arms over her breasts and scowled.
“Don’t be angry. I’m sorry this happened to you. The statue has been there for years. When I asked for you to be brought here, I didn’t expect this to happen.”
The proclamation caught Morena by surprise. Amoro’s sincerity in combination with his handsome features and beguiling physique enchanted her. Something primal flared in his eyes. He strengthened his embrace. His lips pressed hers with a tenacity that stunned her into immobility. She resisted until the caress of his hands up and down her back captivated her. Then she lost herself. She moved her hands up his chest. Amoro shattered her defiance. Her submission provoked an urgent reaction from Amoro. He tensed and crushed his lips with voracious enthusiasm.
Morena succumbed to a trance of inexplicable lust. Amoro groaned when she pressed her body closer to his. His lips persuaded hers to part.
She wrenched her mouth free, startled at her body’s acute response.
Blood rushed each time he touched her. Her body screamed out for him.
No man affected her so. One look from him sent her into a dither of surrender. She pushed against him. “No.”
He released her so suddenly that she fell against the back of the bench. Then he drew a breath and held it longer than usual. She forced her gaze from his chest. “I suppose this was my fault, too,” she blurted.
“No doubt you will say I brought this upon myself.” She strove to collect herself.
“Trying to lift the fig leaf was your mistake,” he said. “This one was mine. I apologize.”
“Pardon?” she questioned, incredulous.
“Contrary to what you may think of me, I’m not in the habit of corrupting women.”
“I was not in danger of corruption.” Morena looked away.
“No? What lies behind the leaf is not for virgin eyes.” His tone rang with amusement.
“No, it most assuredly is not.”
He smiled and removed his mantle. “Wrap this round you. You must don dry clothes before I’m tempted to show you how wrong you are.”
Morena opened her mouth to emit an acerbic remark about his wicked arrogance, but his bold grin became too much to endure. “You are one to talk, you who are already corrupted.”
“I, corrupted? Impossible.” He stared, a look of complete surprise on his face.
“You dare deny it. Betrothed to me, yet bedding another.”
Amoro leaned back. “So that is what bothers you.”
The blasé timbre of his voice infuriated her. Morena raised her hand to slap him, but he caught her hand in mid air.
“Don’t treat this matter as if it were insignificant. Perhaps things are different in Genoa where affianced women take their men’s mistresses in stride. You may even think me a fool for making an issue of it, but I’m no fool. If you are to be my husband, know that I will never tolerate a mistress. It is best that I make that clear before we wed.”
Amoro’s face remained void of expression while he listened to her tirade and waited for her to finish. “Now that you finished what you wanted to say, allow me to explain myself.”
“You are insufferable,” she repeated.
“I confess to that.”
Oh, how unbearable. Morena shivered and hugged herself.
He drew his mantle more closely around her. “I want the truth between us, Morena.” A smile touched the corners of his sensual lips.
“The truth would make me very happy.” Morena tipped her head to the side. “I admit I can find no reason to fear or dislike you.”
“Keep that to yourself. It might spoil my reputation.”
“Yes, your reputation. What is it?”
“One of the nastiest kind,” he challenged then paused. “Shall I tell you what I came here to tell you?”
“Certainly.” Morena lowered her eyes.
“I wanted to explain about Laria.” Amoro leaned forward. He rested his elbows on his knees and looked at his hands.
“Did you—do you love her?” Morena asked, almost afraid to hear his response.
“I have known Laria for several years. On the night before I departed for Portovenere, I told her we were finished and that I intended to marry you. I asked her to leave my home.”
“She cannot have accepted your decision easily.”
“She took the news badly, but I pride myself in being a man of my word. On the day you and I wed, I intend to forsake all others and keep only unto you for so long as I live.”
She weighed his words with a critical squint. “Thank you.”
“I speak the truth,” he assured. “It is not my habit to disguise my intentions.”
His declaration touched Morena’s heart.
Amoro withdrew a small box from inside his tunic and lifted the lid.
Inside, glittered a most magnificent emerald. He took her hand. His touch sent tiny tremors down her spine. He slid the heavy ring onto the slim finger of her left hand.
“This is exquisite.” She turned to face him.
“This ring is a treasured inheritance passed down through the centuries from duchess to duchess. Now it is yours.”
“Thank you.”
“I prefer to be thanked with a kiss.”
Morena kissed his smooth, shaven cheek.
“That kiss is not worthy of so beautiful a ring.” He took her lips with unexpected tenacity. The kiss seemed to last an eternity. It sent shudders of passion through her body.
“Look at me,” he whispered as he grasped her chin in his fingers.
“You’re trembling,” he said as her eyes lifted to his. “Has my kiss affected you so?”
Despite the torrent of sensations that pulsated within her, Morena shook her head. “I tremble because I’m cold and wet.”
A smile hovered about his lips. “Let me carry you to your room.” He stood and lifted her into his massive arms.
When she wrapped her arms around his neck, she detected a small smile.
They were halfway across the courtyard when Amoro stopped.
“Morena,” he whispered in a voice calm and warm.
She looked into his eyes.
“Now that you have accepted our marriage, I think we should set the day.”
Amoro wanted her reassurance. She paused. The moment seemed to halt time. His body tensed as he awaited her response.
“Let’s ask your mother to help us pick an appropriate date.”
Amoro’s face and body relaxed.
***
THAT EVENING, THE GREAT hall blazed with torches. Musicians played while servants conveyed food from the kitchens. Amoro sat at the head table, his mother on one side, Morena on the other. A future with Morena would be full of promise, he thought as he studied her.
A greater beauty did not exist. Her appeal lay behind the amiable sparkle of her eyes and elegant laughter. Something deep within made her shine as bright as a flawless gemstone against the light. He dreamed of her in splendid clothes to match her attractive body and beautiful character. He imagined himself as her husband with a baby to suckle her breast.
The blessings of marriage began to hold profound meaning for Amoro. A wife to stand beside him in times of joy or sadness. A woman to warm his heart and his bed and make his life complete. A woman to nurture and love his children.
“The musicians are skilled,” Morena commented.
“Yes, they are,” Amoro agreed.
“They are my favourite,” interjected Caterina.
A short silence befell the trio.
Caterina interrupted the quiet interlude. “Morena’s virtue is proved. It is time to discuss the wedding.” She cast a direct stare at her son. “I want it to be soon. By this time next year, I want to hold my grandchild in my arms.”
“I promise to attend to the matter, mother,” Amoro vowed solemnly. A slight grin graced the side of his mouth.
“Neither do I wish to see any procrastination on your part either, cara,” she forewarned. “I understand that you still mourn for your father, but you are no longer alone in this world. The sooner we formalize your status the better.”
Morena paused. “I think I would like that very much, Duchess. In fact, Amoro and I would like you to chose the day of our wedding.”
Caterina smiled with approval.
Between them, Amoro leaned back and beamed with delight.