Nina Beaumont - Twice Upon Time

Antonio cast an impatient glance toward the stairs. With a sigh, he signaled the innkeeper to bring more wine.

He could not get it out of his head. No matter how he tried, the misty image that had surely been an illusion conjured up by his tired brain stayed with him. An illusion, he repeated to himself. An illusion, damn it. And yet it had been real. So real. Even now, hours later, he still felt as if he were a small boat adrift in a dark, unfriendly sea, lurching about in a storm. And he did not care for the feeling.

For the hundredth time, he picked through those brief moments, carefully, methodically. Surely, if he examined what he had seen closely enough, he would understand. He swore again, silently, viciously. What good did method do when he had seen next to nothing? But he had felt. And known.

The tension in his gut built to a new height. He had known that behind that hazy barrier he and Bianca had been lovers. Lovers of the flesh. Lovers of the heart. That knowledge had been as real as the white curtain that had turned crimson. As real as the smell of blood, which had nearly overwhelmed him.

He was not a fanciful man, nor was he a squeamish one. Why then did this ghost of an image not leave him in peace? Why did it torment him until he no longer knew if he was seeing the image again or merely the memory of the image? Until he was certain he was going mad?

No, he was not a fanciful man. But something that took such hold of him had to have a meaning. And he’d be damned if he did not find it.

Alessio lifted his head, his eyes wild. With a curse he swept his arm across the table, sending cups and bottles crashing onto the brick-tile floor.

Unperturbed, the innkeeper approached and matter-offactly started picking up pieces of stoneware and glass. Antonio started to make a jest, but the grin froze on his lips, the words stuck in his throat as he saw something he had never seen before—not when they had ridden into battle, not when they had faced a naked sword in a dark alleyway. In Alessio’s eyes he saw pure, unadulterated terror. And behind the terror was an emotion so deep, so intense that he did not know how to read it.

The noise jarred Alessio back to reality, and yet some part of him still remained caught in that illusion. He shifted his gaze from the havoc he had wrought to Antonio, and yet he saw neither.

Instead he saw Bianca’s face. The look of a little girl lost. The look of a temptress sure of her triumph. And he knew that all the rough, hurtful, mocking words they had said to each other today had changed nothing, meant nothing. Only one thing he had said today had been completely true—she belonged to him.

For a fleeting moment he was filled with the certainty that unless he made that an irrevocable reality, something terrible would happen. The certainty dissipated, but the compulsion to act remained.

“I have to ride back, Tonio.” Already he was reaching for his cloak.

“Back? Back where?”

“Monte Nero.”

“Back to the Merisi villa?” Antonio stared at his friend as the terrible truth began to dawn on him.

“I see,” he said slowly. “So I wasn’t so far wrong before. Just wrong about the name.”

As Alessio turned to go, Antonio finally managed to get his body to obey his mind and leapt up, reaching across the table to grab a handful of Alessio’s black velvet doublet.

“What of the curfew? The fines are stiff if you run into a watchman,” he babbled. “And the city gates will be closed by now.”

“I will find a way. For enough fiorini I can buy myself a way through the gates of heaven. Or hell.”

Antonio breathed a sigh of relief as he saw Alessio’s arrogant grin. This was the Alessio he knew. This was the Alessio he could talk some sense into. Still holding on to Alessio’s doublet, he scooted around the table.

“Listen to me. This is insane.” He gripped Alessio’s shoulders and shook him. “You cannot do this. She is betrothed to your brother.” He shook him again. “Your brother, damn it.”

“You don’t have to remind me, Tonio.” His voice was dull.

“And you would still take her?” Antonio’s hands fell down to his sides. He was as cynical a man as any. He knew that rules were made to be broken. Most rules. But there were some rules a man did not break. “Take your brother’s bride and leave him to find used goods in his marriage bed?”

“Is that what you think of me?” Anger flared in his eyes. “Is that what you think I will do?” But as Alessio said the words, he remembered that that was just what he had almost done on the beach only hours ago. No, he thought. He had done it. Perhaps he had only taken her mouth, but with that kiss he had possessed Bianca as surely as if he had spilled his seed into her body.

“Isn’t it?”

“I want her, Tonio. I wanted her long before she was betrothed to Ugo.”

“So why didn’t you seduce her then? Or marry her yourself?”

“A younger brother with no prospects marry?” Alessio laughed shortly, mirthlessly. “And the other alternative? Seduce the virgin daughter of good family?”

“Would that have been worse than seducing the virgin daughter of good family who is betrothed to your brother?”

“No.” Alessio met Antonio’s eyes and held them. “I will not seduce her.” It crossed his mind that if anyone would practice seduction, it would not be him.

“So.” Antonio crossed his arms over his chest. “So you ride fifty miles in the middle of the night to do what? Will you serenade her? Will you play a game of chess with her? Or perhaps have a philosophical discussion?” he scoffed, bis good-natured face grim.

“Don’t forget I’ve known you all my life,” he continued, “and I’ve seen you with more than your share of women since we shared our first girl the year we turned thirteen.” There was a touch of envy in his laugh. “You are to women what a flame is to dry gunpowder.”

“I tell you I will not bed her.” Alessio wondered what Tonio would say if he knew that he had never bedded a virgin. He had bedded cheap whores and expensive courtesans, peasant girls and highborn wives. But never a virgin.

“I need to talk to Bianca. Something happened today—” He broke off. How could he put into words something that had happened only in his head? Tonio would think he had gone mad. And perhaps he had.

“She will break the betrothal.” His hands fisted. “I will make her break the betrothal.”

“Break the betrothal?” Antonio parroted. “I imagine old man Merisi will have something to say about that.”

“The betrothal will be broken, I tell you. It’s been done before.”

“Alessio, Alessio.” Antonio shook his head. “Think with your head and not with what’s between your legs.” He slung his arm around his friend’s shoulders. “Would it be worth the trouble? I do not deny that lying with a woman is one of the great pleasures of this earthly life, but would it be worth it? At some point, they all grow fat or ill-humored. Or both. Besides—” Suddenly, he shivered. “Besides, Ugo would kill you if you do.”

No, he will kill me if I do not. The words were so clear in Alessio’s mind that for a moment he thought he had spoken them aloud. As he stared at Tonio’s face, he wondered where the words had come from.

Then, because he was first of all a man of action, he threw off the introspection that had been paralyzing him all evening. As energy and power surged through him, he cast Antonio a dazzling smile.

“Drink a cup of wine to my good fortune, Tonio.”

“I would drink a barrel if I thought it would do any good,” Antonio said morosely, but Alessio’s sudden confidence was so contagious that he, too, smiled. “Forza, Alessio, e buona fortuna.”