The Wind Dancer (3 page)

Power, Giulia realized with a start of surprise. Not only did Lion Andreas possess
physical strength and power, but also an inner strength and power far beyond those of
other men... certainly beyond those of any man she had ever met. His curiosity about life,
about what was going on around him was more intense, his potential for good or evil
more extreme, his appetites stronger, than in anyone of her experience.

"I'm growing impatient, cara. Must I beg?"

"You never beg." She started across the room toward him, unfastening the rope of pearls
binding her fair hair. "You take." She dropped the pearls onto a table beside him. "And
take." Her palm caressed his thigh and she felt the muscles harden beneath her touch.
"Until I cannot even lift one little finger."

"How cruel." He lifted her hand from his thigh and pressed the palm to his lips. "I
wonder that you still receive me when I so misuse you." His tongue stroked the sensitive
flesh of her palm. "You always smell of roses. When I'm away from you I always
remember the scent... "

"When you're between the thighs of one of your other whores? You come to Florence
only two or three times a year. Who pleasures you when you leave me?"

He glanced up, his dark eyes twinkling. "Perhaps, like Lorenzo, I find solace in Plutarch
and Aristotle."

She smiled reluctantly. "Not you. There's too much hunger in you. I doubt you could last
a week without a woman. Do you keep a strumpet at Mandara to service you? I know
that--" She broke off as she felt the sharp edge of his teeth on her palm exerting just
enough pressure to send a thrill of lust, not pain, through her.

Lion's large hand reached up to caress her throat. "Does it matter that there are other
women?" His fingers gently stroked the hollow where her heart was pounding wildly.
"Why? I never ask you how many men you service when I'm not here." He pulled down
the square neckline of her gown to bare her breasts, one callused palm moving to the left.
He spread his fingers over her breast and watched the nipple tauten in response. "It's what
we are together that concerns me." He leaned forward and his lips closed on her now
distended nipple, and she felt his warm tongue tease and caress the distended tip.

"Lion... " She swayed toward him, her fingers tangling in his hair. "I could come with
you to Mandara."

His head quickly lifted and his eyes became shuttered. "No."

How stupid to make such an offer. It had tumbled out before she'd thought it through,
and, she knew, it was generated by sheer jealousy of those other women in his life. Lion
would never take her to Mandara. He would not even talk to her about his life away from
her. "I was only joking," she said quickly, rubbing her swollen breast teasingly against
his lips. "Why should I give up my fine life here in Florence? I have everything I want.
Money, beautiful jewels, and one man is much like another."

"True." Lion's tension eased. "But there's only one Giulia," he said lightly. "Giulia, the
divine." He stood up and pulled her toward the bed across the room. "Giulia, the
generous."

She could see the hunger growing in him, his manhood pressing hard and bold against the
material of his hose. Lust speared through her. "Generous?"

"I'm in the mood to test your kindness tonight." He smiled as he sat down on the bed,
spread his legs, and pulled her down on her knees before him. He took her palm and
brought it to his lips before lowering it to cover his rigid manhood. "And you are going to
be generous to me tonight, aren't you,
cara
?"

Tonight, tomorrow, for a few days. It would never be more than that with Lion. But what
did it matter? Her hand moved slowly, teasingly on his body as she gazed up at him
through her long lashes. He was aroused, hurting, feeling with an intensity that made her
heady with power. She was filled with breathless excitement. Lion would be wild, strong
and lustful as a satyr, insatiable as he always was when aroused. More. "Yes," she
whispered. "I'm going to be very generous,
amo mio
."

"You don't seem to understand, my enchanting Sanchia," Caprino said mildly. "You have
no choice. You will go to the piazza and relieve the gentleman of his purse. Then you'll
bring the purse to me and I'll see that you're suitably rewarded. You will do this or you
will never lift another purse in Florence ever again."

"Why me?" Sanchia asked fiercely. "I told you earlier today that I didn't want--"

"This is a special task."

"It's too soon. I can't--" She broke off as she realized her voice was rising. She cast an
anxious glance at the door of the shop set in the alcove behind her. Giovanni mustn't
know she was out here with Caprino. It was only because Giovanni had started on his
third jug of wine of the evening and was unlikely to notice her absence that she had dared
to slip out when Caprino had appeared a few minutes before. "You know I can't leave the
shop in the middle of the day. Giovanni will ask questions."

"And you will lie." Caprino shrugged. "It's not as if you haven't lied to him before."

"Not often." Lies were sometimes necessary to survive, but Sanchia had found that an
occasional lie surrounded by the truth was much more likely to be believed. "And not
unless it was important."

"But this is important. It was you who came to me three years ago and asked to be
trained. Out of the goodness of my heart I made you one of the finest thieves in all of
Florence and what did I ask in return? Nothing."

"Two thirds of every purse I stole is far from nothing."

"I could have asked for all but a few ducats."

And gotten it, Sanchia thought wearily. She would have had no choice but to give in to
his demands. Caprino got his share or there were no thefts, whoring, or killings in
Florence. "I've never tried to cheat you of your share, Caprino."

"I know. Such a virtuous child. It warms my heart." He took a step closer. "How are your
three little friends? I hear Bartolomeo is becoming quite as skilled as you as Giovanni's
helper in the shop. How old is he now?"

"Ten," she said warily.

"And Elizabet? I saw her a few days ago. Such a lovely maid, all golden hair and soft
pale skin. She must be fifteen by now."

Sanchia stiffened. "Fourteen."

"Old enough," Caprino said. "When are you going to send her to me? There are easier
ways for a pretty pullet to make her way in the world than the one you've chosen for her."

Sanchia's initial surge of panic was quickly washed away by anger. "Stay away from her,
Caprino."

"Ah, now that's what I like to see. A little fire." He studied Sanchia objectively. "You're
really not bad-looking. A little color in your cheeks and a few pounds on those skinny
bones, and I might be able to use you too." He brought his lace-trimmed kerchief to his
nose with a moue of distaste. "After a dozen scented baths and a thorough perfuming."

"You do use me." Her lashes lowered to veil her eyes. "I steal for you."

"Only enough to feed that brood you hold so dear."

"It will have to satisfy you."

"But I'm never satisfied. I'm a very greedy man. Haven't you realized that yet, Sanchia?"
He smiled faintly. "Give me Elizabet and I'll share the ducats I get for her. I might even
be able to persuade Giulia Marzo to take her. Your Elizabet could become the courtesan
of a rich and powerful lord. Fine food, pretty gowns--"

"No!" Sanchia saw the frown forming on Caprino's face and instantly began to placate
him. "Not yet. Perhaps in another year."

"Why not now?" Caprino's voice lowered to a silky threat. "I'm desolate you're not
returning the kindness I've shown to you. Ingratitude make me very unhappy. First you
refuse to do me a small favor in the piazza tomorrow, and now you're hoarding that sweet
child from me and telling me--"

"I'll steal the purse," Sanchia interrupted. Then, as she saw the flicker of satisfaction on
Caprino's face, she realized with frustration that he'd gotten exactly what he wanted from
her. He had used the threat to Elizabet to force Sanchia to steal again. Why had she
expected anything else? Caprino always got what he wanted through guile or cunning or
force. Still, it had been only a threat this time, she thought with relief. "Why do you want
that particular purse? If I see an easier--" She stopped.

Caprino was shaking his head. "It has to be the man I point out to you. And why I want it
is no concern of yours." He turned to go. "The piazza at two. Don't be late." He glanced
back over his shoulder. "If I don't get that purse, I'll have to seek... compensation. You
understand, Sanchia?"

"I understand." A shiver ran through her as she met his gaze. "You'll have your purse."

"Good. Such a sweet child." A moment later he had faded into the darkness, and the
breath Sanchia had not realized she had been holding came out in a rush.

Dio
, she had been frightened. She had known it was only a matter of time until Caprino
realized Elizabet's potential value to him. Nothing and no one escaped Caprino's notice
for long if it meant money flowing into his purse, but perhaps she had staved him off for
a little while.

She stood gazing at the darkness into which Caprino had disappeared. Something would
have to be done soon about Elizabet, who was becoming too comely for Sanchia to
protect. She had caught Giovanni gazing often at Elizabet of late. His eyes held the same
lust he had had for Sanchia's mother. Soon he would attempt Elizabet, if Caprino hadn't
already forced the girl into one of his brothels. One solution to Elizabet's problem had
occurred to Sanchia, but it would take more ducats than she could manage to salvage
from her share of the purses she snatched for Caprino. Perhaps if she could find a way to
get away from the shop more often--

She jumped as a crash of splintering pottery sounded in the shop behind her. The sound
was immediately followed by Giovanni's loud cursing. "Sanchia! Where the devil are
you?"

She consciously braced herself and turned to open the door. "I was just getting some air.
It's so--" She gazed in horror at the disaster across the room. A pottery jug lay broken on
the scribe table, and Giovanni was making futile dabs with a cloth at the rich red wine
spreading on the two leaves of parchment in front of him.

"No!" Sanchia hurried across the room to stand looking down at the first leaf. It was
ruined, the ink running over the parchment. She carefully lifted it away from the one
beneath. The second leaf was still legible, but the liquid had soaked through and it would
also have to be recopied. "You've ruined it."

"You can fix it," Giovanni mumbled, shaking his shaggy graying head. "I don't have to
deliver the work until noon tomorrow." He turned and walked unsteadily toward the
room at the back of the shop. "Sleepy... You can fix it."

Yes, she could fix it, Sanchia thought in weary exasperation, but it would take all night
and most of tomorrow. Thank the saints Bartolomeo had put the rest of the folio neatly
away in the cabinet as soon as he had finished setting the type for each leaf, or this
accident could have been a true catastrophe. He had only left these last two leaves out to
have them in readiness to set the type early tomorrow morning. Though this disaster was
certainly bad enough. Messer Rudolfo was a scholar as well as a merchant, and he would
have been furious to have his original
Convivio
destroyed. He might have yielded to the
current fashion of having copies of books in his library printed on the modern marvel of a
printing press, but he still had a fondness for the beauty of the originals as well as a
merchant's appreciation for their intrinsic worth. She would have not only to replace
Rudolfo's original leaves with two of equally fine script but to start setting the type
herself tonight. She and Bartolomeo had judged it would take both of them working at
high speed from the first light of dawn tomorrow to print those last two leaves and finish
on time. Now that Bartolomeo would be forced to do the printing alone while she did the
hand copying, some of the typesetting must be done tonight.

"I'll clean off the table."

Sanchia turned to see Piero at the door leading to the small storage room. He was rubbing
his eyes with the backs of his hands and looked endearingly tousled and warm, even
younger than his six years. She felt a rush of affection and suddenly the world didn't
seem such a grim place. Life had its ugly patches but it wasn't all ugly. There were
children like Piero and beautiful words on parchment and probably hundreds of other
wonderful things she couldn't recall or still had to learn about. "Go back to your pallet,"
she said gently. "I can do this myself."

He shook his head as he came over to the table and began to clean up the shards of
pottery. His small, sturdy body was swaying a little and he was almost asleep on his feet,
she thought tenderly. Yet she knew he would stubbornly continue to try to help her. Yes,
there were many wonderful things that men like Caprino and Giovanni couldn't besmirch,
and companionship and love were two of them.

"I'll get Bartolomeo up." Piero carried the pottery shards to the big straw basket across
the room. "He can set the type."

Sanchia shook her head. "Bartolomeo went to sleep only an hour ago."

"You haven't slept at all," Piero answered. "I'll get Bartolomeo up." He disappeared into
the room where the four of them slept.

A moment later Sanchia heard the grumbling protests of a very sleepy Bartolomeo and
then Piero's determined voice. "No, I won't let you go back to sleep. Sanchia needs us."

Sanchia smiled. Young as he was, Piero could never be deterred once he had decided
something must be done. Her smile faded when she remembered it was only his
stubbornness that had kept him alive when his mother had abandoned him to the streets
and gone into one of Caprino's brothels. Piero had been like a fierce young animal for
weeks after Sanchia had found him in an alley off the Piazza della Signoria two years
before.