Bianca (23 page)

“I don’t know,” Amir answered honestly. “She is one of four sisters. She has been widowed. I know her family has sent her to her maternal grandfather in Venice in hopes of finding a second husband for her. They would not allow her to see me when I was imprisoned, but when I departed Florence she managed to come and stand by the road. I swore I would find her, Grandfather. I do not doubt that her love for me has not wavered in the months we have been apart.”

“What if, by the time you reach her, she has been remarried?” the sultan asked.

“I don’t know, but I do know she will do everything she can to avoid any marriage to another man,” Amir replied.

“So you mean to make her your third wife?”

“Yes. I took Maysun and Shahdi to my bed, and made them my wives at your request. They are good women, but I love neither. Taking Bianca as my wife will not lessen their position within my house. I know their fathers are not very important to you, but I will not shame their families or endanger the loyalty you have from those men,” Amir told the sultan. “But I want Bianca for the wife of my heart.”

“What if you have a son?” the sultan wanted to know. “I would be in no danger from such a child, but he would be considered a danger by my heir, or his heir.”

“If Bianca were to give me a son, he would be taught loyalty to his sultan, but if I sensed danger to my family, I would remove them from your realm.”

“You cannot go west again,” the sultan told his grandson. “They would never accept an infidel with a Christian wife in the West.”

“No, but I could go east or north or south if it were required of me,” Amir said. “If the choice were mine, however, I should retire to the Moonlight Serai with Bianca, who shall be called Azura, and my other two wives. I will only journey to the city when my business demands it, or the sultan wishes my presence in his house. You know I am not a man for power, Grandfather. I hope I have not disappointed you too greatly by being more like my English mother’s merchant forebears than my warlike Ottoman ancestors. I know my father is baffled to have sired such a son.” He smiled at his grandfather.

The sultan nodded. “We get ahead of ourselves,” he told the younger man. “I have many days ahead of me, Allah willing, and you do not have your woman back yet.”

“With your permission, I will make plans to fetch her,” the prince said.

“I know nothing about such a venture, Amir, nor do I want to know. If you are successful, Venice will complain, and perhaps even Florence. I would tell them with a clear conscience that I know nothing of what you planned,” the sultan said with a chuckle, and he stroked the beard on his long face with a long hand. “They will not want her back once you have stolen her, even for all their protests.”

“I understand, Grandfather,” Amir responded with a smile.

“I am sorry to lose you in Florence. The information you were able to send me regarding the French, the Germans, and the rest of the western lords was very helpful. You were well liked, Lorenzo di Medici wrote me.”

“The Florentines seem to be a clearinghouse for all the gossip in Europe. All the armies going back and forth seem to pass through the city. It is enormously prosperous, although probably second to Venice, since they have no port like the Venetians do.”

“The Venetians have grown fat with their shipping. Much of Florence’s goods go through Venice. The merchant families there are just as influential as the merchant families in Florence, if not more so,” Sultan Mehmet observed. “I should really like to have Venice for myself, but it is better to let them have the illusion of being a republic. The doge does what I want, and so I must be satisfied with that.”

“So you are still conquering,” Amir said.

“There are places yet that can benefit from Ottoman rule,” his grandfather responded with a smile.

The two men shared a meal together. Then Amir was shown to a bedchamber and invited to shelter for the night. The next morning he departed his grandfather’s palace, and taking a horse from the royal stables he rode to his own home known as the Moonlight Serai. He had sent Krikor ahead several days before to alert his two wives that he was coming. They greeted him warmly, exclaiming with delight at the gifts he had brought to them. He spent the night with them both.

Maysun was a tall, big-boned girl. She had dark brown hair and gray eyes. She had a sweet disposition, and was entirely content. His second wife, Shahdi, was more high-strung. A blond, brown-eyed Circassian, she had been disappointed to be given to an unimportant grandson of the sultan, although her family had been delighted. Still, as he was away much of the time, she had a freedom she might not have had with another man. Since she was a girl who had never been cloistered, this was a great relief to her.

After having spent the night with both of his wives, and having satisfied the two of them to their delight, Amir told them he would speak with them later in the day. Then he went to bathe. As much as he had enjoyed Italy, he realized he was very content to be in his own home once again. He was never more comfortable than when he was here. Breaking his fast with hard-boiled eggs, fresh apricots, warm bread, and yogurt, he smiled broadly when Krikor brought him a small cup of dark coffee.

“I’m going to go to Venice shortly to fetch Bianca,” he told his servingman.

“Can you reach her before they marry her off again?” Krikor wondered aloud.

“She is mine,” the prince said quietly.

Krikor said nothing. He had never seen his master so determined as he was in the matter of the beautiful Bianca. But then, she had been just as passionate. Surely they were meant to be together. “I will come with you, my lord. You cannot go without me.”

“I should never go without you,” Amir answered his faithful slave.

“When do we leave?” Krikor asked.

“Tomorrow. We sail from Istanbul to Venice, and back in one of my own ships. I don’t want to have to worry about loyalties, for we must be quick. It is possible we may be pursued. I don’t want Bianca in any danger.”

“Knowing the name of her grandfather will aid us in reaching her more quickly,” Krikor said.

“Send one of the eunuchs to bring my wives to me here and then go pack for us,” the prince instructed. “We will travel lightly. And I will want Darius with us.”

Krikor smiled, nodded, and went off to do his master’s bidding.

Several moments later, Maysun and Shahdi came into the chamber where the prince had eaten his meal and was now enjoying his coffee.

“You sent for us, my lord,” Maysun said. Both women bowed from the waist.

“Sit! Sit!” he invited them, and when they had made themselves comfortable he said, “I am going away again, but only for a short time. When I return I will bring with me another wife. Once she is with me, it is unlikely I will leave the Moonlight Serai again except at the sultan’s command. I will expect you to welcome her into your midst, my ladies. I will want you to pack proper garments for her to wear on our journey, and clothing for her good servant. I must rely on you both in this.”

“If you mean to remain at home, my lord, are not two wives enough for you?” Shahdi asked him, pouting. “Why must you bring a stranger into our midst?”

Maysun chuckled.

“What is it you find so amusing?” Shahdi demanded to know.

“This new wife is the woman of his heart, foolish one. Is that not so, my lord?” Maysun inquired of him, smiling.

Amir laughed. “She is, my wise Maysun. She is.”

“Then go and fetch her, my lord, so you will know true happiness at last. She will be most welcome in our home, which will soon be her home,” Maysun said. “If you love her, then we will too.”

But Shahdi frowned unhappily. She had always hoped to win Amir’s heart one day. Now, looking at him, she saw it would never be possible, and was sad. Maysun reached for her hand, for she knew her friend’s hope. She had known it would never be.

Chapter 12

E
nzo Ziani began to court Bianca, despite the fact that she discouraged him at every turn. Francesca turned sulky to her grandfather’s entire household, despite her sister’s reassurance that she was not going to marry her suitor.

“If you are not going to marry him, then why do you encourage him?” Francesca demanded to know.

“I am not favoring him,” Bianca protested. “
Nonno
brings me forcibly into the salon when Enzo Ziani arrives each afternoon. You see the footmen escorting me.”

“I’ve seen him kissing you in the garden,” Francesca accused.

“Then you have seen me struggling to avoid his kisses,” Bianca countered.

“Has he touched your breasts? I will wager he has, you slut!” Francesca screamed jealously, for Bianca had beautiful breasts, and her own were smaller right now.

“How dare you question me like this!” Bianca fought back. “I do not want this man for a husband, but I cannot help it if our families think otherwise. He comes each day to win me over. I reject him each day when he comes. I do not know what more I can do to discourage him, Francesca. This situation is not my fault, and I wish you would stop blaming me for it. Blame our grandfather, who is a stubborn old man!”

“I hate you!” Francesca hissed and stalked off.

The betrothal between the house of Venier and the house of Ziani was announced to Venetian society with a grand banquet. It was considered a triumph for both families. Prince Enzo was handsome and well liked. The Florentine bride was beautiful. The wedding date was set for the twentieth day of September. The dressmaker came with her assistants to make the bride’s wedding gown. They brought beautiful fabrics from which she might choose. They measured and twittered around her like a group of hungry sparrows in winter. She forestalled them as best she could, claiming the fabrics were not fine enough for her, insisting they send to Florence to her father for the cloth.

Bianca was furious with both her grandfather and Enzo Ziani, neither of whom seemed to comprehend that her refusal to even consider this marriage to Enzo Ziani was sincere. They treated her as if she were a child, unable to make her own decisions, and so they wisely made them for her. Then to have Francesca skulking about, sulking and muttering curses at her, was not particularly pleasant. Not that she blamed her younger sibling. After all, what was the poor girl to think under the circumstances?

“Oh, Agata,” Bianca said one day to her faithful servingwoman. “What if they are right? What if Amir has forgotten me? What if I wait but in vain?”

“I believe your prince to be an honorable man,” Agata said. “If he said he would return for you, then he will return, mistress. You must not lose hope or your faith in him. He will come.”

“It had better be soon,” Bianca said grimly. “We have been parted for months now, and it is already August.” And then Bianca had an idea. It was a wonderful idea, but at the same time a terrible one. What if on the wedding day Francesca took her place at the altar next to Enzo Ziani? The bride would be heavily veiled, and they could dye her sister’s hair dark. It would not be until Enzo Ziani raised that veil to kiss his bride that they would discover Francesca. But it would be too late then, for the marriage ceremony would have been performed and sanctified. Refusing the bride would cause a far larger scandal than accepting her. All Venice loved a good joke. They would laugh, but then they would consider how romantic it was, and the noble sacrifice Bianca had made for the little sister she loved. Everyone knew this marriage was not a love match. Now it would be, and Francesca would have her heart’s desire. Ziani and her grandfather might fume privately, but Bianca would have more time to wait for Amir.

“That is a wicked, wicked idea,” Agata said. “Your grandfather is correct in that she is too young.”

“Would you have me forced to the altar instead? And then when Amir comes, I would have to run away, causing an even greater scandal?” Bianca asked. “So Francesca is wed a year before
Nonno
intended. Believe me, she is more than ready. Many girls are wed at twelve. She is almost fourteen. She wants her prince and I want mine. The two families still get their way with this union, even if the bride is not who they intended her to be.”

“All of Venice will indeed laugh at such a happening,” Agata warned. “The two families will be made figures of fun, mistress.”

“Only briefly, if they are clever and laugh with the rest of Venice. The story will be told that the younger sister wanted this handsome man, and so she cleverly stole him from beneath her elder’s nose on the very day of the wedding. It will be considered a great love story, and if Enzo is wise he will tell the world how fortunate he is to have a bride who loves him rather than one who does not,” Bianca said. “And then any scandal will die away, as it should when my disappearance becomes the next scandal.”

“How will you account for your sister’s not appearing for this wedding?” Agata wanted to know.

“Francesca has already proclaimed she will not go to see the man she loves wed to another,” Bianca said.

“But will she go along with your little plot?” Agata wondered.

“I shall not know until I can speak with her,” Bianca answered.

But Francesca wasn’t of a mind to hear what her sister had to say. It was not until Agata had asked the younger girl’s maidservant, Grazia, to intercede with her mistress that she would listen to what Bianca had to say.

“What is it you want of me?” she asked in a surly tone one morning when they had finished their meal. “Grazia says I should at least hear you out.”

“Come, and walk with me,” Bianca invited her sibling. “The garden is lovely.”

“Well, you would know better than I, for you spend so much time in it with my prince,” Francesca replied meanly.

Bianca did not bother to defend herself, instead leading her sibling outside where the chances of their being overheard if they spoke softly were far less than if they remained in the palazzo. When they reached the marble balustrade at the end of the garden, which overlooked a small canal, Bianca gazed about them carefully to be certain there was no one to hear her. Then she pulled her sister down onto a marble bench so they would be more comfortable.

“Do you wish to marry Enzo Ziani, Sister?” she asked Francesca.

“You know that I do!” the younger girl replied, her green eyes tearing up.

“Then you shall,” Bianca said. “You will take my place on the wedding day next month. You will be heavily veiled, and we will dye your hair dark. When he raises your veil after the ceremony, it will be too late, for you will be his wife, Francesca.”

“Oh, Bianca! Do you think such a ruse would be successful? Oh! If it were, I should be the happiest bride ever come to the altar,” Francesca said, the angry and pinched look suddenly gone from her beautiful face, her plump lower lip quivering, for she was about to burst into tears of happiness.

“I believe it can be done if we are very careful, and very clever,” Bianca said. “But that means you must continue to appear to hate me. You must declare over and over that you will not attend the wedding. I will prevail upon
Nonno
to allow you your way in this matter. I will tell him if I must accept this marriage, then I will not have the day spoiled by my sister’s whining and weeping over a man she cannot have.”

“You would really do this, Bianca?
Really?
Truly?
”

“I do not want Enzo Ziani, Francesca. I remain in love with my infidel,” Bianca said. “I will never love another man but Amir.”

“
Nonno
and the Ziani family could order an annulment before the marriage is consummated,” Francesca pointed out.

“They could, and it is a chance we must take, but I do not think they will. The mere fact that the brides were switched will be enough cause for scandal. Neither family will want to make the situation worse. Especially if you hint that Enzo took liberties with you before I came to Venice. Who can prove otherwise? And you need not say
what
liberties he took. After I have rejected Enzo Ziani so publicly, he could hardly annul a union with the sister who loves him enough to force him to the altar,” Bianca explained.

Francesca’s green eyes were shining with excitement. “This scheme is worthy of some of the tricks I played on our mother when I was a child,” she giggled.

“It is better,” Bianca replied. “I remember those tricks, Sister. This is a far more involved plot. Now, in order to play your part you must remain hateful and spiteful towards me for all to see. You cannot show your excitement at all. It will not be easy for you. But I will help you by beginning to show some small favor towards Enzo so he and
Nonno
think I am weakening in my resolve.”

“I will hate that,” Francesca admitted, “but yes, there can be no suspicions as to our plans, Bianca. Thank you! Thank you! You are the most clever sister any girl could have.” Then she stood up, and her voice was raised so others might hear. “Are you mad, Bianca? Forgive you for stealing the man I love? Never! Never!”

Bianca now stood. “But Francesca, it is not my decision. How many times must I tell you that, little sister?”

“Do not lie to me, you thieving slut!” Francesca almost screamed. “I have seen you shamelessly kissing him in this very garden!” She winked at Bianca. “And as for accompanying you when you make your stolen marriage to him, I will not! Nor will I attend such a travesty. You may all celebrate, but I will not!” Then the younger girl stormed back to the palazzo, where at least half a dozen servants had heard the outburst.

Agata hurried out to comfort her mistress. She found Bianca, her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking. “Oh,
signora
, do not weep,” she cried out, rushing to comfort her.

Bianca uncovered her face to display a wide grin. She was laughing so hard that her shoulders shook, and was not crying at all. But she muffled her laughter so none would hear.

Agata clapped her hand over her own mouth as she sank down on the bench next to her mistress. “But I heard what that wicked girl said to you,” she told Bianca. “Everyone in the palazzo and up and down the canal did.”

“It was a ruse,” Bianca explained. “Francesca is delighted with my scheme, but we cannot suddenly become reconciled publicly if we are to succeed, Agata. It must appear that we are still split apart because of this planned marriage.”

“Ahh,” the servingwoman said, understanding. “I see! I see!”

“Now escort your grieving mistress back into the palazzo. It is a hot day, and I must take a nap before I have to face my suitor this day,” Bianca said.

Alessandro Venier had scolded his younger granddaughter over what became known as the incident in the garden. He had not heard Francesca’s voice and words himself, but his servants had reported her outburst to him. He was astounded by both of his granddaughters. This particular generation seemed to have no respect for authority and tradition. All of his daughters, and he had had five of them by his four wives, had been biddable. Even Orianna, when faced with the reality of her situation, had done what she knew she must do without complaint.

But Francesca had been, until her sister’s arrival, a delight. She had learned her lessons without complaint, attended Mass with him when he bothered to go, and been a delightful companion at the dinner table. She pleased him by playing her lute and singing to him in the evenings. She had been perfect in every way until now. But with Bianca’s arrival, everything had changed. He hoped that with Bianca’s new marriage, his dear little Francesca would return to her formerly charming and obedient self.

Francesca’s infatuation with Enzo Ziani, while charming and amusing, had now become as tiresome as Bianca’s insistence that she would not remarry. He could not believe his oldest granddaughter was so stupid as not to understand her situation, especially as she had no calling for the church. But if she was not stupid, then she was wretchedly stubborn. He wished Enzo Ziana good fortune with the wench. Despite Bianca’s constant refusals to be courted properly, young Ziani wanted her anyway. Alessandro Venier shook his head wearily. He believed after four wives that he knew women reasonably well. A woman who constantly refused a man was not a woman he would have chosen to share his life or his bed.

But suddenly Bianca seemed a trifle more amenable to her suitor. Rather than having to send two sturdy footmen to fetch her, she came willingly when called to greet her visitor. She flirted slightly but not enough to give him great hope. Still, it was a pleasant change for Enzo not to have to do all the talking as they strolled in the garden. She wasn’t even averse to sitting while he held her hand and recited florid love poems he had written to her, although Bianca found it difficult to restrain her laughter sometimes, especially when he compared her to a perfect summer’s afternoon or a distant and elusive evening star sparkling just out of his mortal reach.

When he wanted a more intimate moment with Bianca it was difficult for her, but in order to continue the ruse that she was becoming more accepting of her fate she had to allow him certain liberties. His kisses were seductive, and frankly they made her head spin. Bianca was very confused by it. She had no feelings for Enzo Ziani at all. He aroused no lust in her and yet she found his kisses were quite exciting.

His hands knew just how to caress her so that she could not control the frisson of chill that raced down her spine when she allowed him to touch her. Bianca knew that she had to keep his kisses and his touches to a minimum. Enough so that he believed he was winning her over, but not so much that he would think her loose and untrustworthy. It was difficult. She had discovered to her surprise, or was it her shock, that a woman could respond to the lovemaking of an attractive man even if she wasn’t in love with him. Did such emotions make her wanton? There was no one of whom she could ask the question.

But her small effort at appeasing Enzo’s lustful appetites seemed to reassure him that once they were wed she would melt into his arms and he could fill her with passion.