The Silver Devil (54 page)

"My
dearest sister." He kissed my hand. "I knew you would keep your oath
never to love another man as you loved me. And I have kept the oath I swore to
you, so that now God will reward our constancy by suffering us to live together
for the rest of our days."

"You
delude yourself." Domenico's voice broke the spell. "God may suffer
it, but I will not."

Amerighi
looked up bewilderedly. "Why, who is this?"

"It..."
I felt sick with a new fear as I stared into the dark eyes. "It is the man
who brought me from Cabria."

"Why
does he seek to command you?"

"Should
I not?" The whisper was directed at me, and I felt the color flame in my
cheeks.

"Sister?"
Amerighi's insistent voice was almost beseeching. "Does Cabria grudge you
to me even now, that he sends this fellow with you?"

"No..."

"Yes,"
a fraying voice interposed. "Cabria does grudge her."

"I
will stay with you, Niccolo." I turned my back on Domenico as I spoke,
looking up into the pathetically strained face of the man who held my hand.
Anger was burning in me that Domenico could, even now, be so childishly cruel,
and in that moment I meant what I said. Amerighi's eyes lit up, and his hands
gripped mine urgently.

"Truly,
Isabella? You will swear it?"

I
was about to make my promise to him when a noise at the far end of the hall
made me turn to see an armed man blinking in the doorway. Others with lanterns
stood behind him, peering warily around the hall. Domenico turned swiftly, but
Amerighi's attention never wavered.

The
leader, a short swarthy man, called out sharply, "My lord the Duke!"

There
was no response, not a flicker to show that Amerighi had heard.

The
silence was suddenly terrible, and Domenico's voice cut into it like a knife.
"Who and what are you?"

The
man turned, eyeing him suspiciously. "I am the captain of my lord duke's
army. The palace guards sent for us when they heard the sounds of fighting—they
are cowards, every one." Uncontrollable scorn tinged his voice. "What
has been happening here?"

I
saw Domenico tense, then his bright head lifted a little, arrogantly.
"Your master and I have had a... friendly trial of our strength." He
spoke levelly, watching the man. "I have need of the services of you and
your men, and it was a wager between us to prove to him that I know a little of
fighting."

The
man nodded slowly, his gaze resting dispassionately on the scarlet patch on
Domenico's shoulder. "And you will tell me that you won this fight,
this... wager?"

"After
a fashion," Domenico agreed negligently. "And the dead man?"

"He
tried to help his master.... He did not realize that we were fighting in jest.
It was he who gave me this." He touched the wound with a casual fingertip.
"In attacking me he slipped on the stairs and fell on his own
dagger."

The
man's eyebrows lifted ironically, and his breath hissed gently between his
teeth. "And then?"

"What
else? Your master, being a man of honor, resigned to me to redress his
servant's foul—that is why I say I won after a fashion. Ask your duke if it is
not so." There was a devilish gleam in the dark eyes.

The
dark man glanced at Amerighi and said tonelessly, "You know it is useless
to speak to him. He has fallen into one of his fits, and it may be weeks or
months before we get any sense from him again."

"Is
he often so?"

"More
frequently of late—it was why he was brought here to dwell out of the capital,
for his own good and the state's. He is harmless, but in these fits he is like
a child." He tapped his forehead. "And we have to wait for them to
pass, like spots across the sun. What began it?"

Domenico's
smile was not pleasant. "The heat of combat; I would say so."

The
man nodded again. "Yes. And what must I call my new master, when my old
one cannot gainsay his orders?"

A
long breath, like a sigh, escaped from Domenico. Then he said, "I am the
Duke of Cabria. You and your men will be ready to ride with me tonight, across
the mountains to Fidena; the Spanish army has possession of my city, and with
your help I will win it back."

"The
Spanish!" The man gave a wry smile. "Well, it will not be the first
time I have fought my countrymen. What of the woman?" The question made me
jump: I thought he had scarcely noticed my presence.

"The
woman is not your concern. Go and warn your men, and take that carrion and
that—your master—out of here."

Domenico
turned his back dismissively, and the captain signed to his men to carry
Marcionni's body away. He himself crossed the floor and put his hand on
Amerighi's shoulder.

"My
lord Duke, you must come with me. It is urgent."

For
the first time the hazel eyes lifted from my face, and Amerighi returned
petulantly, "What can be so urgent that it interrupts my private
conference with my sister? Learn to know your time, sirrah."

"I
crave your pardon, my lord Duke." The man bowed obsequiously, but I saw a
measuring look in his eyes as he glanced at me. "But it is of the utmost
import, and if you will come..."

"This
fellow grows tiresome, Isabella." The smile Amerighi gave me was wry and
completely charming. "It seems I must go with him—you will stay here until
I return?"

I
nodded, not trusting myself to speak for the choking in my throat. He let go my
hands, and as he turned to go out with the captain at his shoulder, he said
sternly to Domenico, "Guard your mistress well, fellow," and went
out, his black-clad figure quickly swallowed up in the darkness. The captain
lingered a moment on the threshold, looking back.

"It
will be good to fight again," he remarked to the hall at large. "We
grow rusty as nursemaids to a lunatic." Then the door closed behind him,
and the footsteps died away across the courtyard.

As
the sound faded, Domenico's left hand crept up to grip his injured shoulder,
and I saw for the first time how gray his face had grown with exhaustion. But
his voice was as curt as ever when he spoke, standing with his fair head bowed.

"Go
and put on the clothes you came in, Felicia. I will send to tell our men that
we leave within the hour." Without waiting for an answer, he turned
towards the staircase and began to climb. I watched him, unbelieving—could the
tragedy of a man's shattered mind mean no more to him than so much political
advantage, a stroke of luck that enabled him to get what he needed? Cold with
fury, I said, "No, Your Grace."

He
looked around then, sharply, his eyes narrowing. "How?"

"I
will not go with you." I spoke steadily, waiting for his anger. It did not
come.

"Why
will you not?" I was not looking at him as he spoke. I only heard the
level, incurious note in his voice.

"Because
I am not yours to command any longer—I care for your pledged word if you do
not. I shall stay here with the Duke of Ferrenza."

"No."
The single word made my blood run cold, but I was beyond caution.

"Why
should you care whether I go or stay? You only want me to salve your precious
pride! I will not be hauled through the mountains to pleasure you for a few
nights more, just to gape at your triumph afterwards!" I looked up to see
him standing unmoving, staring down at me, and then looked away again. I must
forget that I love him, I told myself violently, and try to salvage some sort
of life for myself out of this ruin. "Duke Niccolo won me fairly, and I
will not cheat him now because he is mad. I shall stay and care for him—he
needs me now more than ever."

He
said, sounding shaken, "Do you not care that when he takes you to bed he
will believe he is at incest with his scrawny sister?"

I
ignored him; then it was as though my words came out in spite of myself,
lashing at him blindly, uselessly. "You have had value for your thirty
pieces of silver, have you not?"

He
did not answer, and I felt the tears rising treacherously in my throat. To
prevent them, I continued, "I am going to find my new master, and I shall
look after him in exchange for the army you have stolen. And he loves what he
believes me to be—that is something."

And
I turned and left him, walking across the hall to the great door, feeling my
heart tearing out of my body with every step.

"I
forbid you to go." The words were low, toneless.

I
answered without looking back. "I am not yours to forbid. Comfort your
pride with your conquest!"

I
was almost at the door. I was thinking: It will be cold outside, but perhaps
when I find out where they have taken the duke I can borrow a cloak to put
around me. Then, as my fingers touched the latch, I heard Domenico's voice.

"Felicia!"

The
raw anguish of it stopped me. Tears were threatening to spill from my eyes so
that I had to bend my head, fighting for self-control, and I did not hear him
come up beside me. His hand touched my shoulder, then dropped again as I
shivered.

"Does
this look like pride?" His voice was shaking. "Or must I
grovel?"

He
was on his knees at my feet, and as I watched he lifted the hem of my gown to
his lips and kissed it. I made some sort of sound in my throat, but I could not
speak.

"You
cannot go." He spoke in a whisper, without lifting his head. "I love
you. I have always loved you—I bought you from your vile brother because I
could not live without you."

As
I stared down at his bowed, bright head, the earth shook under my feet. This
could not be happening, I thought; it was a lie, a trick to beguile me when his
force or his threats failed. But there was a note of shame in the ragged,
shaking voice, and desperation in the white fingers gripping my gown.

"I
did not think you would not come to love me—women have always loved me. I
thought that if I kept you long enough you would cease fighting me at last. But
you have not." There was a note in his voice that shocked me. "Only
once or twice I thought—but then you were as cold to me as ever, as if you
hated yourself, and me for making you yield. But you were such a goddess in my
arms, I could not forbear you."

Cold
to him, I thought dizzily, when I have had to fight not to kneel to him as he
knelt now to me, not to beg for the crumbs of his love? Surely my love must
have lain in my eyes a hundred times for him to read?

But
it had not, for now he knelt humbled beside me, his fair cheek pressed, almost
unconsciously, hard against my thigh, and I felt him trembling as he had done
in the grip of one of his nightmares.

"I
meant to wed you." The words were muffled and difficult. "I thought
no woman would scorn to be Duchess of Cabria — and I knew that once I got your
faith, you would not break it. Then when you were mine forever, you might have
come to love me at last, for what I had given you if for nothing else."

The
bitterness in his voice hurt me like a physical pain, and my hands went out to
him; but he stirred as though he thought I meant to put him from me, and the
silk of my gown tore between his clutching fingers. "No." It was a
child's nightmare gasp. "Not yet..."

I
stood very still.

"It
was to stop you flying from me that I did not tell you, and I invented Savoy's
bastard daughter to hoodwink you and silence my damned great-uncle. He would
not have a commoner on the throne of Cabria, he who turned his church into a
brothel before he grew too old for whoring!" His voice shook. "So I
sent out messengers, pretending to find out your father and published it in
council that it was old Savoy. I knew he would not gainsay me—he fears
Cabria—and the tale did him no harm. Those ancient whoremasters debated for
four days, but in the end I wrung their consent from them and consigned my
uncle to Diurno to prepare at once for my crowning and my bride."

"I?"
I murmured, half to myself.

He
nodded, still without lifting his head. "Those slaves in Diurno accepted
the tale easily enough—no one save Ippolito knew for sure that I had no proof
of your parentage. He forged me your pedigree to show the council. And that
harlot Maddalena guessed the truth; she was spying on me and thought she could
stop my intent by frightening you with that story of my father. She was
jealous, the whore."

"And
the portraits?" I asked softly. "All you told me of the bride who was
to supplant me?"

"To
get some sign of jealousy from you. But you did not love me enough, and I had
forgotten it when I tried the trick. Why should you be jealous of me?"

I
stopped to stroke his hair and felt him go still under my hand; then as he
raised his head to look up at me, I saw the look on his face. My heart seemed
to stop beating.

"Felicia."
It was little more than a whisper. "Stay with me."

Laughter
shook me, like a surge of pain; on his lips even pleading became an order. I
asked unsteadily, "Nothing else?"