The Angel of Soriano: A Renaissance Romance Read online

  With fingers to her lips, she smiled as she counted all the flavors of Bernardo’s kisses. Which was her favorite? Against the wall, the first one in Rome, or in here in her chambers? All lit a fire in her belly, all lustful, and all very wrong. Bernardo was engaged. She should’ve never allowed her infatuation to go so far.

  Today, she’d have to try to explain to Lucella that she’d nothing to worry about. Bernardo was a fine noble and Aurelia had no dowry but a parchment with a wax seal.

  Still, things could be so much worse. She combed through her short locks with a wry smile. For one thing, she no longer had to spend hours tugging through two feet of blond knots and tangles. And for another, most of the bruising in the mirror had changed into a lighter shade of yellow-orange. And thankfully, her nose had shrunk back to its regular size and perhaps might even straighten.

  After dressing, she tiptoed past Pino’s sons and descended to street level. There, she leaned against the cold stones to slip on her boots and tie a new lace cap under her chin. She jumped back into the doorway when horse hooves approached,. A familiar form dressed in expensive red velvet sat atop a white palfrey. His five companions were armed with swords, knives, and personal canons in leather holsters.

  Borgia? Had he discovered she still lived? He disappeared up the hill and she followed the steep road to the castle, careful to keep her distance.

  Antonio lowered his pike at the gate and stopped her. “You don’t want to go in there.”

  Bernardo’s and Dideco’s greeting echoed from deep within the great hall and she tried to inch in to hear what was being said. “Was that Rodrigo Borgia?”

  “Signore Bernardo gave specific instructions that I should detain you, if you should try to enter. Off with you, now.” He used the long pike as a bar and pushed her out of the piazza.

  Frowning, she gave up and wandered down the street where Stefano met her and pointed into her small room. “Get inside. I swear you must have a death wish. Didn’t you hear? Borgia is in the city.”

  Oh yes. She’d heard, but needed to know why. Suddenly, she had a wonderful idea. “Would you see that I’m not disturbed? I do believe I need to pray upon the matter.”

  He tilted his head as if she’d said something quite disturbing and followed. There he waited with arms crossed over his chest, fuming.

  A thick fur protected her knees and bed served as altar for clasped hands. “Holy Mary…”

  Six prayers later, Stefano, no doubt bored, stepped away. She climbed onto her bed, pushed on the wooden door with her feet, then cursed under her breath. It must be locked from the other side.

  Putting her stiletto between her teeth, she turned, and slithered forward on her elbows and knees. Then she poked her knife around the edges of the wooden circle until metal met metal and pulled up.

  Eccolo! The latch released and the door swung open. Laughing, she squeezed through, pulled her skirts, and quietly closed the door. With her arms outstretched on the first step, she twisted, and sat on the top of six stone stairs, studying her surroundings.

  Ages past, a long thin dovecot had been built into the fortress. Overhead, pigeons flew in and out of the many slits in the outside wall. They cooed noisily, roosting on the inner side of the narrow space. They barely noticed as she passed under, trudging through several inches of droppings and over an old iron ball.

  Damnation. At the top of the next staircase, a thick oak door barred her way. Even with ear to the door, she couldn’t understand a word taking place in the great hall.

  She went back the way she came and stuck her head out the hole made by the old trajectory. With some effort, she broke free a few more bricks to make a wider opening. They toppled over the ledge and clunked at the bottom seconds later. Leaning out the hole on her stomach, she still couldn’t hear clearly what was being said in the room overhead.

  This will not do. Removing her clothes except for her chemise, she shivered and twisted completely out of the hole. Feet and toes gripped pigeon holes as she inched up. Only once did she glance down at the gully many feet below.

  Suddenly, Dideco Carvajal shouted, “Bring me the Nardini girl, ready for travel.”

  The devil have at her! She’d not be in her room when they came looking. Uncle Pino and her cousins would be punished. But should she return, her fate was sealed. A prostitute for Borgia.

  Her foot slipped, legs swung out, and heart thumped madly. Below, a sheer drop to the ravine could be her final end. Taking a deep breath, she calmed and found one toe hold, then another. She backed into the large underground dovecot, grabbed her belongings, and raced to the barrel-door entrance.

  “Just a moment,” she shouted as she climbed over her bed on hands and knees.

  “What the devil?” Bernardo raced across the room, picked her up, and placed her in front of the mirror. Face and arms were black, feet covered in pigeon droppings.

  “My God. Where were you?” Stefano stared, mouth agape.

  Bernardo pushed him out of the room. “Get your brother and father to guard the door. Go back to the keep. Tell my father she needs more time to dress appropriately. And by all the blood of Christ, have him send a maid.”

  He splashed water from a beautiful hand-painted pitcher into a matching basin. Then grabbed a towel and began to dab at her face. The rough linen scratched at her many bruises.

  “Ow.” She slapped his hand away.

  “You little fool.” His eyes were dark and brows furrowed as he clamped onto her wrists. He lifted her arms high, and with surprising gentleness, washed her from armpit to fingertip. She shivered as his hand slipped over a breast and caressed.

  When she arched for more, he let go and rubbed more lavender soap into his hands. “Close your eyes.”

  His rough palms washed her cheeks, followed by soft greedy lips on hers. When he took the soapy kiss deeper, she opened her mouth to his tongue. Even while gasping at the intimate act, she yearned for more, and locked her arms around him.

  He grew hard and she opened her legs, needing that to rub against where he’d recently brought her to heaven.

  Struggling to catch his breath, he moaned, and backed away from their kiss.

  His heart, like hers, beat wildly. “My God, Aurelia, What am I to do with you? I cannot give you up.”

  She brought his knuckles to her lips. “It’s a full half day’s ride to Rome. Surely we can think of a plan by then.”

  The black abyss of his heated gaze captured her until a soft tapping on the door reminded them of the danger.

  “Hello? Signorina? Signore Carvajal?”

  “You may enter.” Aurelia quickly ducked into the clean wool dress and pulled it over her body.

  A young maid entered and blushed as if she’d caught them both naked. “What do you need?”

  Aurelia fumbled in her few belongings, dumped the contents out on the bed, and held up her braid. “Can you attach this?”

  “Si. Sit my lady.” With a polite nod, she opened a satchel and pulled out ribbons and pins.

  Bernardo paced as Aurelia’s braid was placed on her head and covered with a lace cap.

  Then he picked up the parchment with the red wax seal. “What’s this?”

  “Nothing, really. My father said a grandmother left me with a small dowry. Careful. Don’t break the seal. He said it would diminish its worth.”

  He whistled through his teeth. “I know that seal. ’Tis from no grandmother.”

  “No?”

  “It’s the seal of Pope Innocent. We’ve no more time. I’ll explain later.” He stuffed the parchment into his doublet.

  Chapter 17

  Even though wearing layers of skirts and covered by a long shawl, Lucella Santamaria shook as she inched toward the fire in her upstairs chambers. She’d stood at the top of the drafty staircase for over an hour, spying on the elder Signore Carvajal and that fat old cardinal from Rome.

  She picked out a green thread for her needlepoint, mind racing. She just needed more time. Time to get away
from her grandmother and visit the old witch in the woods and get more white powder. Then she’d again start to sprinkle it onto the food. Eventually, the ever-vigilant cooks would stop checking. Perhaps it’d be easier with the son of the steward gone.

  “Guess what? We’re going to have a wedding.” Her grandmother smiled, crossed the room, and dug boney fingers into her shoulders.

  “Dideco says I can’t wed until I come into my menses.” Lucella rolled her eyes, then jabbed her needle in and out of the fabric.

  Jesu Christo. Her grandmother grew less sane with each passing hour but she couldn’t be allowed to spoil her plans. Not now. Thanks to my special tea, soon I’ll be forced home, barren. Then after prayers in the local church she’d stop the teas, miraculously recover her period, and marry a Spaniard. Never again would she return to these horrid Papal States.

  Her grandmother went to the cupboard and lifted a small pottery jar with a stopper. “Sheep’s blood. We can douse the sheets and your night shift.”

  Lucella’s heart stopped as her greatest nightmare was about to come true. “But I don’t wish to be married. I want to go home.”

  “Hush girl.” An old fist went back, swung, and missed.

  If the white powder didn’t work soon, Lucella would just push the old hag down the stairs, forget the poison, and take a knife to Bernardo in his sleep.

  “I swear you grow more ignorant daily.” Her grandmother’s permanent frown lines were actually frightening when she smiled thus. Then she dripped dark blood onto the bed sheets.

  Lucella stood, dismayed. “What will happen next month and the next? Bernardo will no doubt suspect. If not, certainly the maids will tell him.”

  “I’ll keep track of the phase of the moon until you become comfortable with the task. No one will ever know. Now, try to look happy, girl.” Her grandmother splashed the rest of the smelly contents onto Lucella’s white nightgown then ran out of the room shouting, “Don Carvajal? Come quickly. Joyous news! It’s time to plan a wedding. Come see.”

  Lucella bit down on her tongue until she tasted bitter blood. She was going home, even if she had to murder the whole Carvajal family to do so.

  Chapter 18

  Aurelia rode alongside Fulvio and Bernardo as they passed under another stone arch leading into the city of Rome. Two men rode in front with Borgia and five trailed behind. More like pirates than a holy escort, all were well-armed with swords and pistols.

  Borgia glanced back. What would her life become as mistress to the most powerful man in Rome? Eyes cold as sword’s steel barely blinked when they stared down his long nose. Rolls of neck fat made her shudder to think of him naked. He’d want to touch her like Bernardo had done. Enter her. And no doubt his stomach would get in the way of his cock reaching her core. How would he even perform the task?

  Mio Dio. These thoughts accomplish nothing. I need to get free.

  Bare trees, brown grasses, and gray sky served to further darken her mood as they rode through the November countryside.

  And what if I get pregnant? She shuddered. That couldn’t be allowed to happen. She needed to stop this absurdity.

  Perhaps Borgia could be brought to see reason. If she just explained in enough detail and with enough fervor, she could convince him that she’d not make a good mistress. For one thing, she wasn’t as lovely as she was last spring. Her nose was bent and her face bruised. And at nineteen, she was an old maid. She certainly couldn’t be considered dutiful and had a tendency to climb and run. And until yesterday, she was a virgin. And what if he forced her to tell him who had breached her first?

  “I need to stop.”

  She pulled up on her reins near a small tavern with a hanging sign of a pig and a mug. Two blessed outhouse doors with half-moons stood behind the building. God help anyone who would deny her this small amenity.

  Frowning, Borgia turned his horse about, and watched her with those snake-like eyes. She still wasn’t sure if he even had lids.

  She competed in his odd staring contest for only a moment before lowering her gaze. “Please, Your Excellency. You haven’t fed me, nor let me relieve myself for hours.”

  He pointed out old ruins on top of a hill in the distance. “That’s Rome. We won’t stop again.”

  “I’ll see to her, with your permission.” Bernardo sidled his horse next to hers and shot her an encouraging smile.

  “Not you. Him.” The cardinal tossed Fulvio a coin. “Have the innkeeper pack bread and sausages. See that her skein of wine is filled. Then we’re off.”

  Fulvio exchanged a quick glance with Bernardo before helping her down. One tingling leg gave way and she would’ve toppled if not for his strong grip.

  He whispered in her ear, “Come quickly.”

  She hobbled toward the outhouse, leaned on his elbow, and jumped on the leg to dispel the worst of the pins and needles. Then she leaned over to grab a mullein leaf for wiping and entered. Heaving a sigh of relief, she sat on the cleanest of the ten holes, and let go.

  Behind the wooden structure, Fulvio spoke. “Are you in there?”

  She gasped. “Si.”

  “There’ll be a small fight as we enter the city. Men will attack. We’ll be forced to defend you. Abandon your horse. Run to the church. You know the one. Do you understand? You’ve but one chance. Don’t look back.”

  “Si. But—”

  A cross voice boomed, “What goes on here?”

  Fulvio spat back. “I was taking a piss. You wish to watch?”

  “Do it over there.” The pirate’s spurs clanged, and then all was silent except for the impatient horses nickering beside the road.

  She quickly took care of business, adjusted her skirts, and exited. Fulvio and Bernardo waited, looking anxious while one of the cardinal’s men boosted her up.

  Once well on their way, she nodded to her lover, hoping he’d understand that she’d received his directives. When one of the guards watched with furrowed brows, she feared she gave too much away. From that point on, she kept her gaze focused on the path ahead. After about a mile the pirates seemed to pay her less mind and she exhaled.

  She used the opportunity to sneak her stiletto from her boot and saw through the length of her skirt such that it’d drop off when she ran. Bernardo must’ve noticed, for he threw a blanket over her as if she were cold.

  “Grazie, signore,” she said stiffly.

  Again, Borgia turned and glared.

  Damnation. Bernardo’s livelihood and perhaps even his life grew more perilous with each passing moment.

  Too soon, stone cottages gave way to grander homes with high stone walls and towers. Inside Rome’s walls, she bit her lower lip, jumping at every sound.

  A man shouted, “Halt!”

  She froze. This is it.

  Out of nowhere, masked bandits with swords surrounded them. She tried to escape but the Cardinal’s pirates made a protective circle around her. Sword clanged against sword in a small piazza in front of a church.

  When a bandit got too close, her horse reared. She clung onto its mane and gripped tightly with her thighs. Back teeth clicked together when her horse’s front hooves dropped onto the pavement.

  Bernardo smacked the poor beast’s hind quarters, it screamed, and bolted ahead. Eyes closed, Aurelia was sure she’d drop off and break her neck before the men in pursuit would reach her. Loud clomping on the street grew closer. They’d be upon her in moments.

  Then her horse just stopped in a dead end.

  She swung her leg around and dismounted. When she climbed up and over the nearest wall, her skirt fell away followed by her lace cap and braid. She dashed into an enclosure where a low hanging branch hung over from a tree next door.

  With arms raised, she hopped up and swung until her legs clamped around the wood. Then she hooked her knee tight and righted herself.

  Beyond, the cardinal’s men shouted out they’d found her horse.

  Think. Bernardo had said to find the church. He must mean the one where they’d
first met. From the height of the tree, surely she could locate that piazza. She must be close.

  She recalled the furious look on Borgia’s face as she rode away. He’d no doubt punish Bernardo and his family, send them back to Spain, impoverish them, or worse. Surely by now he suspected.

  Would she trade her freedom for Bernardo’s life? There was only one conclusion. She had to return to Borgia and explain.

  From the tallest branch, she scoured the small courtyards of the surrounding homes. On a second floor nearby, a pair of men’s hose and a vest dried on a balcony.

  She scooted over two walls and then used a long stick to knock the clothing to the ground. She slipped into the oversized hose and rolled it at the waist. Then she tucked in her under-gown and covered it with a doublet. The overall effect was one of a very rotund young man.

  Content she could do no more, she snuck into the building through an open first story window. She couldn’t resist stealing the feathered cap that hung by the front door. Donning it, she exited out into the street. After asking several men for directions, she found the Borgia estate and approached.

  A dark skinned man answered when she pounded the door and reviewed her attire with a sneer.

  Exhaling, she put her nose up in the air as she’d seen Lucella’s old grandmother do. “Are you going to make me stand here, slave, or let me in?” Her rude tone would need to be confessed before the end of day.

  He nodded and motioned her into a huge room, partitioned by one dark red velvet curtain. All manner of lewd paintings hung on the walls and she blushed. The torchlight made the lighted areas of the women’s naked flesh appear to move as men entered them in the vilest of ways.

  Dear God, what had she gotten herself into?

  Borgia swung back the curtain and smiled slowly as if eyeing a piece of chocolate. He even licked his lips. Crossing the room, he stood too close and took her hand in his. Then he kissed it more like a lick.