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Morena saw little of Amoro in the days that followed. He spent many hours in consultation with his council and it occupied most of his mornings. In the afternoons, a steady line of citizens sought resolutions to their domestic disputes or clemency for prisoners. It amazed her that the burden of these obligations didn’t overtire him. The only time Morena spent with Amoro was in the evenings in the great hall, surrounded by nobles and guests.
Morena too, kept busy. She explored the palazzo and learned the names of the servants. Caterina accompanied Morena on most days to teach her the ways of the Genoese, the foods Amoro preferred, and the duties of a duchess. On this particular day, she helped Morena with the fitting of several new kirtles, tunics, and wimples before Caterina retired for an afternoon nap, exhausted by the day’s activities.
Stifled by the many new obligations, Morena indulged in a stroll through the colourful gardens behind the keep, grateful for a chance to be alone. Morena delighted in this unexpected bit of freedom. She inhaled the essence of earth and blossoms in new bloom. Her face turned skyward. She removed her wimple. The warm breeze fluttered through her hair. She welcomed the warm rays of sunshine on her face and shoulders.
“The sun’s rays grant the earth many blessings.”
Morena spun around just in time to see Smerelda harvest a plant with small purple florets.
Smerelda rose to her feet, supported her back with her hands, and leaned back for a stretch. “Ah, this is what I came out here to find, pennyroyal.” She held out the plant for Morena to see. “I’ll need to find a few more before I have enough for my purposes though.”
“What is it used for?” Morena moved forward for a closer look.
Smerelda’s face turned grim. “A potent brew made from pennyroyal will purge a babe from the belly of a woman.”
Morena thought about her own mother who died during childbirth.
“I never knew such a cure existed, but I understand why some women fear childbed.”
“Often it is not the fear of childbirth that drives a woman to resort to such a remedy – it is the shame of being unwed or poverty or starvation that motivates.” Smerelda gestured to dismiss the topic and smiled.
“Come, let’s walk together a while. I sense you need someone to talk to.”
They walked in silence for a while. Confusion raced through Morena’s mind.
“Talk to me, child. You look troubled.”
Morena searched the old woman’s face. Beneath the wrinkled countenance, an aura of wisdom abounded.
“So much has happened over the past few weeks. It is all so overwhelming. At times, too much to fathom.”
“It may seem as though the future stretches before you like a frightening tunnel, but don’t fear it. Embrace it. It comes with new hope and a loving family.”
Morena thought about her father and mother, both lost to her. Only the bloodstone necklace and castle remained to remind her of them. She thought about the villagers of Portovenere whom she loved since childhood, and who loved her in return. When would she next see them?
“I’m not so certain. I have always felt needed and useful. At present my life is an endless round of change. At times, I feel foreign, burdened with worry.”
“Tell me your worries.” Smerelda reached for her hand. “I have served this family for many years. You will find kindness and acceptance among them.”
“It is not that. Everyone has been more than kind and generous.”
Morena bit her lip. “It is Amoro.”
“Ah, yes. Let me guess, you worry about whether Amoro loves you.”
“Yes, what if he does not? It would mean that as his wife I would have no use, no purpose except to decorate the high table and breed heirs.”
“Amoro has a great propensity for love. He is sincere and kind.”
Morena stopped and faced Smerelda. “How can I trust a man who swore his mistress was no longer a part of his life, yet I found her in his bed?”
“Laria.” Smerelda spat out the name as if it were a curse. “When it comes to her, nothing is as it seems. She was only a diversion for Amoro, a viper who latched on to him as a means to raise her own status. I suspect she fulfilled a specific need for his carnal pleasure, but she means little to him.”
“Are you certain?”
“I’m certain. A woman of my experience can tell. You are the one for him. I’m as convinced of that as I am that the sun will rise on the morrow. When it pertains to you, I see the love in Amoro’s eyes and in his actions. Did he not stand by your side at the death of your father?”
Morena recalled the way he kissed her several nights ago. She felt so safe in his arms that she fell asleep peacefully. From the first, he told her that he wanted her.
Smerelda paused to examine a rose bush and sat on a bench. Morena settled beside her. The memory of Amoro’s lips on hers and his embrace caused her cheeks to burn.
“Ah, by the blush in your cheeks, I see there is something between you.”
“I was thinking about the first time I saw him. He slept by my bedside, and when he awoke, he told me we would marry. When I refused, he tried all the harder to convince me.”
Smerelda grinned. “When it comes to Amoro, if he wants something, he will never give up, especially if it is a matter of honour or duty. I suspect such is the case with you. Look beyond the arrogance and relentless determination. You will see his generous spirit and strength of character.”
Morena thought of the bejewelled roses he gave her. “Amoro does seem as if he desires me, and he is a very generous man, but how can I be certain he loves me? And love is what I want most from a man.”
She recalled the imperious way Amoro laid claim to her, as if she were chattel. She dismissed the thought.
Yes, he was all those things and more, but she could not prevent her heart from opening to him. She cared for him. To keep the fires of her rancour and defiance alive against him proved ever more troublesome.
“Did you expect to find such love in Duke Ernesto, then?”
Smerelda’s brow furrowed. “Wasn’t it duty rather than love that compelled you to honour the betrothal contract? Deep feelings exist between you and Amoro. I see it in the way he looks at you, how he cuts your meat at the high table, the gifts he gives you. Your chances at love seem more likely with Amoro.”
Smerelda’s words struck Morena like a spatter of cold water. Was it true love she felt for Amoro? Beneath his caresses, he made her feel wanton, capricious, untamed. Even though he infuriated her, he made her feel like she belonged to him.
“Marriage to Amoro is inevitable, child. It is your fate. Give him a chance.”
“Yes, I’ve heard that before,” Morena said with sarcasm. “Amoro decided so even before we laid eyes upon each other.”
“Nay, it was not Amoro’s choice. It was his father’s dying wish.
Amoro is a man loyal to his word, foresworn to do as bid. Open your heart to him, Morena. His determination will triumph as surely as a rainbow after a storm. You will never regret to have such a man for husband, a man of honour with a great propensity for love. His heart is already soft and open to you. I dare say he loves you already but he is far too stubborn to admit it even to himself.”
Morena pondered Smerelda’s wise words. “Perhaps you are right.”
“Of course I’m right. I’m seldom wrong.” With her gnarled hands, Smerelda drew Morena to her in a motherly embrace. “Your future together is inescapable. You will be the wife of that impressive nobleman. You will be a duchess. A realm of good can come from such a union.”
With a deep sigh, Morena leaned over and plucked a bright lilac-blue flower from a small cluster that grew beside the bench. She decided to appease Amoro and choose a date to wed. How should she tell him? She could say it with indifference, but Amoro possessed an uncanny ability to sense her sincerity. Then he might give her that arrogant grin, which always vexed. Morena frowned. To appear apathetic when she conceded would preserve her pride, but it didn’t bode well for two people entering into marriage – to begin their lives together with disguised emotion. Yet, indifference reflected the opposite of her true feelings for him. These past few days she missed his gentle strength, tender gaze, and the passion.
She even missed her quarrels with him.
“That is a crocus flower you have picked.” Smerelda took the flower from Morena. “Inside each bloom is a bright yellow stigma. When dried, the stigma produces saffron, the rarest, and most precious of all spices.”
She pulled the stigma from between the petals and held it up to the sunlight. “Did you know this?”
Morena shook her head. “No, I never learned about herbs. I had no one to teach me.” She heard the tone of regret in her own voice.
“Yet you picked this flower instead of one of the other more colourful robust flowers that grow beside it. Often, it is not the obvious things that bear the richest rewards.”
Morena pondered the wisdom. Her dormant wits came alive. How foolish to resist the idea of marriage. For the first time, a sense of complete acceptance settled over her. Her eyes welled and her worries lifted. “Thank you for helping me to understand.”
Smerelda embraced Morena. Morena never before experienced the embrace of a mother. She revelled in the comfort. Tonight, she would smile into those fathomless emerald eyes of Amoro’s and open her heart to him. She would surrender in the battle of wills that raged between them. Amoro deserved a wife who wanted him. She hoped that Amoro would take her in his arms and kiss her in that bold, sensuous way of his. Happiness pulsed through her veins.
A clamour of commotion came from somewhere near the keep. Voices rose in anger. A child cried shrilly. Morena and Smerelda exchanged worried looks, rose from the bench and raced toward the disturbance. Outside the main doors of the keep, an older woman shook a young boy of no more than six years. Distorted with fury, the woman’s face bore a dreadful look of viciousness as she bellowed accusations at the child. A crowd of servants surrounded the two, but none dared defy the woman’s authority. The look of fear on the boy’s face horrified Morena. The woman’s face glowed with hostile fury. She cuffed the boy on the side of the head and shook her gaunt fist at him. A stream of profanity flew from her mouth, vulgar words, cruel and callous. Tears streamed down the boy’s dirty face. He thrashed about to escape the old woman’s grip.
Through the din, Morena yelled “Stop!” Her shout stilled all activity.
She welcomed the confusion her interference caused and seized the moment to catch her breath. “What is this about?”
The woman faced Morena, but continued to hold the boy by the scruff of the neck. “I’m the castle cook, my lady, and this boy stole from me.”
“Release the child this instant,” Morena demanded.
“But my lady - “ the woman began.
“This instant,” Morena repeated.
The cook released the boy who ran behind Morena and hid behind her skirts. Her heart squeezed at the show of trust. Poor little scamp. She reached behind and pulled the boy to her side.
Morena addressed the cook, her chin tilted, her stare fixed hard upon the woman with an eerie stillness. “What did this boy steal?”
“He stole a piece of cheese and some bread, my lady.” The cook rested her hands on her hips.
Morena knelt down to face the child. Tattered rags covered his tiny form. His emaciated face bore the dirt of many days of outdoor play. His blond hair was as scruffy as that of a mongrel dog. Hunger blazed in his eyes. That fact weighed heaviest upon her. “What is your name?”
He drew his brows together in an agonized expression. With lower lip aquiver, the child turned his eyes to the ground. He rubbed a small hole in the dirt with his bare toe.
“I recognize the child,” Smerelda said in a voice that seemed to come from afar. She stepped forward, ran her fingers through the boy’s hair and smiled down at him.
The boy smiled back and clasped his small arms around her. He buried his head in her skirts.
Smerelda placed a protective arm around him. “His name is Marco.
He and his mother live in a small cabin on the edge of the woods just east of the fork on the main road to Genoa. His mother has been very ill of late. I apply healing herbs and syrup of horehound, but her condition deteriorates. I daresay she was not able to feed the boy this day. Hunger, not malice, drives him to steal.”
Morena rose and took the boy’s hand. She cast a narrow glint at the cook. “Prepare a basket of food. See to it that it contains no remnants of last night’s dinner and enough fresh food to last the mother and child a week.”
“Yes, my lady.” The cook directed a vile glare at the boy.
The act didn’t escape Morena’s attention. “In the future, should there be any more such disputes, you are to bring them to me to resolve. Do you understand?”
The woman blushed red with shame. She walked back into the keep with a slouched walk, muttering all the while.
Morena turned to the boy and smiled with affection. “First we will eat. After, can you take me to your mother?”
The lad nodded. The heavy lashes that shadowed his cheeks flew up.
Morena’s heart skipped a beat when she saw the brightness in his eyes. “Good. Come with me to the kitchens. I think there is a fresh honey cake that I need someone to help me eat. I’m very hungry. Are you?”
The boy’s smile widened as he followed Morena and Smerelda to the kitchens.
***
WITH MARCO SATED AND dressed in a new set of clothes, Morena ordered her palfrey saddled. It was a wonderful day to ride. A wagon awaited already loaded with baskets of food. She would deliver it personally to the boy’s ailing mother. Smerelda rode in the cart to show her the way.
Because she didn`t wish to overwhelm Marco’s family, she ordered there be no escort. Morena provided the cart’s driver with directions, sat Marco beside Smerelda in the cart, and set off.
They had not traveled far when Morena heard the clip clop of horses behind her. She glanced back and noticed ten men at a discreet distance behind her. Her mood veered to anger. They had disregarded her wishes. Disappointment became a huge knot inside of her. She leaned over to speak to Smerelda.
“Smerelda, please continue on without me and give Marco’s mother my regrets that I could not attend.”
“But why have you changed your mind?” A pensive glimmer shadowed Smerelda’s eyes. Then she glanced behind her. A look of comprehension crossed her face. “Morena, it does not matter. The guardsmen are there to protect, nothing more.”
“It does matter, at least to me it does.” A harsh bitterness settled in the pit of her stomach. “These men are as obvious as a peacock amongst eels. I asked them not to come.”
“Perhaps they don’t wish to go against Amoro’s orders?”
“It proves Amoro still does not trust me. Please see the boy home.”
Morena collected her mount and kicked the beast into an aggressive gallop.
***
AMORO TOSSED ASIDE the rolls of parchment he perused. He leaned his head back and glanced out of the window. His thoughts turned to Morena. In her presence, he felt like a besotted clod-pole, unable to concentrate. His loins tightened as he recalled her luscious curves beneath the transparency of her wet gown on the day she fell into the fountain. Amoro believed she desired him, too. If she were not so damn stubborn, she would have realized it long ago.
More than anything, Amoro longed to possess her. He wanted to fill her days with happiness and her nights with pleasure until she came to love him as much as he loved her. Love. He murmured the word to test the idea. With a slow, cynical sigh, he accepted the truth of it. He loved Morena. At nine and twenty years of age, after numerous affairs with more women than he cared to admit, he fell victim to a brazen beauty who exasperated him. She held little regard for his rank and title, and refused to relent to him as other women would. Yet he could not fathom a future without her.
Amoro rose from his chair and strode to look out the window. Now that he admitted his true feelings, he grew even more anxious to win her.
He wanted to feast his eyes on her beauty, to embrace her, to hear her melodious voice, to experience the intense sensation of her trim body against his.
The clatter of horses in the bailey caught his attention. Grooms ran forth to take hold of the horses as men dismounted. As they removed their helmets, Amoro recognized Roberto whom he assigned to protect and watch over Morena. Roberto shouted a command to the others and ran into the keep.
Within moments, an urgent knock sounded on his door.
“Enter,” Amoro commanded.
“She is gone.” Roberto’s eyes were as dark as angry thunderclouds and filled with worry.
“What do you mean, she is gone?” Amoro mimicked. He blinked with bafflement.
“Lady Morena left the castle,” he coloured, “and we lost her.”
A terrible tenseness seized Amoro. “How in the blazes of hell did she escape you and the men I assigned to watch over her?” Amoro’s voice sounded hoarse with frustration.
“I don’t know.” Roberto relayed what had transpired. “She led us through a chase through Genoa and into the country-side beyond, but we lost her.”
“Did she show up at the home of the woman and boy?”
“She never arrived. Several guards wait hidden in the woods around the shack.”
“When did this happen?”
“Several hours ago.”
“Satan’s arse.” Amoro’s bellow shook with potent rage. “Where could she have gone?”
Roberto’s face clouded with uneasiness.
“What are you thinking?” Amoro asked.
“I cannot be certain, but perhaps she rides to Savona.”
Roberto’s response sent Amoro’s pulse into a frantic cadence.
Ernesto. Why? Could a fool notion have possessed her to fulfill that ill-fated marriage contract with that iron-witted lewdster? Through the gamut of mixed emotions, a sudden determination grew like a rock inside him. “Gather another fifty men and have my horse saddled. I’ll find her if it takes me an eternity.” Amoro drove his fist into the palm of his hand.
Roberto placed a reassuring hand on Amoro’s arm. “We will find her.”
Amoro grabbed his mantle and followed Roberto to the courtyard.
Fear roiled in his gut. An anvil of dread sat upon his shoulders. Could she have run off to Ernesto? He tried to rationalize why he disliked the man so.
Ernesto was a skilled warrior, but also boorish and uncouth. Amoro heard the unpleasant rumours about his propensity for violence towards young women. Several months ago a twelve-year-old tavern-maid almost died from Ernesto’s churlish lecherousness. Whether true or not, he didn’t find the gossip difficult to believe. He didn’t want to risk it be proven true when it concerned Morena.