Passion Blue by Victoria Strauss Page A

workshops and the store rooms and the chapter hall along the north. Humilità’s workshop was on the north side; to reach the kitchen, Giulia had to cross a garden court, then walk all the way to the back. It seemed to take forever; she was breathless with nerves, afraid that the nuns she passed would somehow be able to read her intentions on her face. She reached the kitchen at last, and waited while one of the cooks fetched the pot of charcoal sticks, wrapping it in a cloth to protect her hands. Its heat warmed her palms through the fabric as she approached the refectory. Two nuns were ahead of her. She dawdled until they turned the corner, then, glancing back to make sure no one was about, she trotted to the refectory door andslipped inside.
    She’d worried that there might be nuns stationed as chaperones, but the sun-drenched room was empty. She could hear tapping sounds, though, coming from behind the canvas that shrouded the scaffold. Balancing the clay pot in one hand, she smoothed down her dress and pushed at her kerchief so a little of her hair showed. Her pulse beating in her throat, she approached the scaffold.
    The canvas covered the scaffold’s length, but not its sides. As she rounded the edge, she could see him: the young man who had winked. He was doing something with a hammer at the fresco’s top. She stopped. Should she speak? Wait for him to notice her?
    As she stood there, irresolute, he turned and saw her.
    “Saints!” He took a step back. “Where did you come from?”
    “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
    “Is that for me?” He pointed to the pot.
    “Oh! No. No, it’s just something…I mean, no. It’s for someone else.”
    “I see.” From the height of the scaffold, he looked down at her. He wore russet hose and a loose shirt under a workman’s smock, the collar open to show a smooth throat, the sleeves rolled above sinewy forearms. His nose was crooked, as if it had been broken long ago. His long light hair curled onto his shoulders. “Well, was there something you wanted?”
    Get hold of yourself. He’s going to think you’re a halfwit
. “I was, um, curious. About what you’re doing tothe fresco.”
    “Ah. Well, I’m repairing it. Water got in behind it, and I’m stabilizing it so it won’t fall off the wall.” He smiled, and Giulia, who had been thinking he wasn’t particularly good looking, realized she was wrong. “Would you like to see?”
    “Yes. If you wouldn’t mind.”
    “Not a bit. Come up the ladder.”
    Giulia set the pot down on the nearest table. He waited, arms folded, as she began to climb, bunching up her skirt so she wouldn’t trip over the hem. When she reached the top, he extended his hand to help her. His fingers were rough, his grip firm, and he held her hand for longer than he needed to before he let go.
    The scaffold was composed of thick planks laid across a wooden framework. Bounded on one side by the fresco, enclosed on the other by the canvas, the effect was of a narrow hallway. Some light filtered in from above, but most of the illumination came from lanterns hung on brackets attached to the scaffold posts.
    “They’re not going to call the watch to take me away, are they?” he said. “For talking to a…what are you? Not a nun.”
    “I’m a novice. I don’t actually know what they’d do.” She’d considered the punishment she might receive if she were discovered, but it hadn’t occurred to her that he might be penalized also. “I was careful. No one saw me come in.”
    “Well, where’s the fun in life if we don’t take chances, eh? As long as you stay clear of those two oldcrows who lead me around at meal times, making sure I don’t steal anyone’s virtue.” His smile was wicked. “I’m Ormanno, by the way. Ormanno Trovatelli.”
    “Giulia Borromeo.”
    “Pleased to meet you, Giulia Borromeo.”
    He was only a little taller than she was. She hardly had to tilt her head at all to look into his eyes. Like