not...."
"Swear
it! Come." There was a note in his voice that shocked me. "Swear for
my humor's sake."
I
said unsteadily, "I will not, in faith."
He
drew a long breath. "Precious wench!" His cheek rubbed my temple in a
gesture that was close to tenderness, and then my gasp died under his lips, and
the comfort he sought was not a child's comfort.
I
woke slowly to darkness and a warm, imprisoning weight. For one drowsy moment I
lay unremembering; then I stirred to stretch my limbs against what hampered
them and let out a soft, sharp cry. Every muscle seemed to be on fire, and my
flesh felt as though it had been scraped raw. Between my thighs pain was raging
like a bonfire and I shrank, outraged, from the touch of arms that closed
around me.
"You
must rouse, my sweet." Domenico's voice in my ear was low and teasing.
"My knaves will be in upon us shortly, and I would not have them see this
sight."
His
fingers ran the length of my back, idle and possessive, and as his hold
slackened, I pulled myself away and sat up, biting my lips when the motion
triggered little flames of pain. He was watching my every movement with terrifying
attention, and then suddenly he laughed.
"Do
not regret your chastity—it is sweeter to lose it than to keep it."
"I
could not choose." Suddenly I felt cold: cold and very calm. "Am I
free to go now?"
The
laughter left his face. "Where?"
"Back
to the city. You can want no more of me now you have done your pleasure."
"That
is for me to decide—I said you shall stay until I bid you go, and it is treason
to disobey."
"Stay
where?" I demanded stupidly.
"Here
in the palace, to supply the office that you did last night. A prisoner is not
ransomed so easily." The mockery in his voice did not touch his eyes; they
were watchful beneath the heavy lids. I stared back at him uncomprehendingly.
"But
why?"
His
hps curved cynically. "You will learn soon enough."
"But
Your Grace..."
"Your
Grace!" he mimicked. "So ceremonious!"
"I
am no greater now than I was yesterday."
"Not
many will think so." He lay back, watching me with a sort of lazy
curiosity. "To be the Duke of Cabria's mistress is no slight honor."
"Not
slight," I retorted recklessly, "but something common."
"You
shall be no common mistress." His face was unreadable. "But I shall
not let you go before I choose. And you shall swear to be true to me."
I
said in simple astonishment, "You cannot command that! Your fancy will
sicken speedily enough—you will have change, and then my constancy will be as
irksome as Madonna Maddalena's!"
"Yet
I command it." His eyes were slitted and angry.
"Why?
To satisfy your tyranny?"
His
hand, vicelike in my hair, pulled me stooping over him. "I do not trust
any man—or woman either—to stand by what he says unless he swears to it."
"I
owe you no faith. I will not swear."
"Why,
do you not love me?"
The
sudden, silken question nearly made my heart stop beating; I would not meet
Domenico's eyes, for somehow I dared not. At last he said, "Do you not,
indeed?" He spoke in an odd, stifled tone, his fingertips stroking my
neck. "Take heed you love no one else, then, or the man you choose shall
pay for it—his hand if it touches you, his eyes if he looks too long—or if his
speech charms you, I shall take his tongue. There are other forfeits." His
hand slid from my throat to my breast. "But beware my jealousy if I spare
your oath, Felicia."
"There
is no such man," I said, and remembered Piero della Quercia.
"Then
the court will be so much more populous. You are a niggard with your vows,
lady"—he was drawing my head down to his—"but more generous with your
deeds; I think I will take my sureties the silent way."
Before
I could answer, a pounding broke out some where beyond the confines of the
bed-curtains; the sound of someone hammering at the door. Domenico looked
around sharply, all the amusement drained from his expression.
"Who's
there?"
"Piero,
Your Grace, and Ippolito."
"Attend
me,
"Swear
it! Come." There was a note in his voice that shocked me. "Swear for
my humor's sake."
I
said unsteadily, "I will not, in faith."
He
drew a long breath. "Precious wench!" His cheek rubbed my temple in a
gesture that was close to tenderness, and then my gasp died under his lips, and
the comfort he sought was not a child's comfort.
I
woke slowly to darkness and a warm, imprisoning weight. For one drowsy moment I
lay unremembering; then I stirred to stretch my limbs against what hampered
them and let out a soft, sharp cry. Every muscle seemed to be on fire, and my
flesh felt as though it had been scraped raw. Between my thighs pain was raging
like a bonfire and I shrank, outraged, from the touch of arms that closed
around me.
"You
must rouse, my sweet." Domenico's voice in my ear was low and teasing.
"My knaves will be in upon us shortly, and I would not have them see this
sight."
His
fingers ran the length of my back, idle and possessive, and as his hold
slackened, I pulled myself away and sat up, biting my lips when the motion
triggered little flames of pain. He was watching my every movement with terrifying
attention, and then suddenly he laughed.
"Do
not regret your chastity—it is sweeter to lose it than to keep it."
"I
could not choose." Suddenly I felt cold: cold and very calm. "Am I
free to go now?"
The
laughter left his face. "Where?"
"Back
to the city. You can want no more of me now you have done your pleasure."
"That
is for me to decide—I said you shall stay until I bid you go, and it is treason
to disobey."
"Stay
where?" I demanded stupidly.
"Here
in the palace, to supply the office that you did last night. A prisoner is not
ransomed so easily." The mockery in his voice did not touch his eyes; they
were watchful beneath the heavy lids. I stared back at him uncomprehendingly.
"But
why?"
His
hps curved cynically. "You will learn soon enough."
"But
Your Grace..."
"Your
Grace!" he mimicked. "So ceremonious!"
"I
am no greater now than I was yesterday."
"Not
many will think so." He lay back, watching me with a sort of lazy
curiosity. "To be the Duke of Cabria's mistress is no slight honor."
"Not
slight," I retorted recklessly, "but something common."
"You
shall be no common mistress." His face was unreadable. "But I shall
not let you go before I choose. And you shall swear to be true to me."
I
said in simple astonishment, "You cannot command that! Your fancy will
sicken speedily enough—you will have change, and then my constancy will be as
irksome as Madonna Maddalena's!"
"Yet
I command it." His eyes were slitted and angry.
"Why?
To satisfy your tyranny?"
His
hand, vicelike in my hair, pulled me stooping over him. "I do not trust
any man—or woman either—to stand by what he says unless he swears to it."
"I
owe you no faith. I will not swear."
"Why,
do you not love me?"
The
sudden, silken question nearly made my heart stop beating; I would not meet
Domenico's eyes, for somehow I dared not. At last he said, "Do you not,
indeed?" He spoke in an odd, stifled tone, his fingertips stroking my
neck. "Take heed you love no one else, then, or the man you choose shall
pay for it—his hand if it touches you, his eyes if he looks too long—or if his
speech charms you, I shall take his tongue. There are other forfeits." His
hand slid from my throat to my breast. "But beware my jealousy if I spare
your oath, Felicia."
"There
is no such man," I said, and remembered Piero della Quercia.
"Then
the court will be so much more populous. You are a niggard with your vows,
lady"—he was drawing my head down to his—"but more generous with your
deeds; I think I will take my sureties the silent way."
Before
I could answer, a pounding broke out some where beyond the confines of the
bed-curtains; the sound of someone hammering at the door. Domenico looked
around sharply, all the amusement drained from his expression.
"Who's
there?"
"Piero,
Your Grace, and Ippolito."
"Attend
me,
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