My Cursed Highlander (4 page)

"Bring Angelo with us. I promise to return ye before Christmastide."

"Four months? Angelo has only just begun his apprenticeship in the Platonic Academy. His father is a very influential leader in Firenze and would never allow it."

"Then he is not your kin?"

"No. He is a practicing artist. I only made his acquaintance a few short months ago, but we are very close." She couldn't trust the Scot with their secret. He wouldn't believe that she could see through Angelo's eyes. Not even Lorenzo knew about the mysterious connection between her and Angelo. A connection she apparently also had with Laird Kraig.

"No harm will come to ye. I will protect your life with my own. Ye have my solemn word."

A more gullible girl might be flattered by such an avowal, but not Viviana. Radolfo had promised to be faithful, but spent more time at the bordello than at home. And Luciano... well... Luciano had been a pig plain and simple. She trusted no man's promises, least of all a silver-tongued devil like Taveon Kraig. "Scotland is on the other side of the world."

"Think of it as an adventure."

"I am blind. My every day is an adventure. You are without wit if you believe I would leave what is so familiar to me. I cannot agree to such idiocy."

"'Tis not idiocy." The gruff undertones in his voice made her wary and reminded her of Luciano. "My kin is destined to die." He shook the shutters and swore, revealing a dark rage he'd kept hidden thus far.

Miocchi jumped between her and the window and growled.

"You should go. There is naught more for us to say."

"Ye are wrong. There is much more that needs said, but not this night. Not like this." A shuffling of feet sounded but cut off short.

"Viviana, ye have something that belongs to me—a scrap of cloth. Do take care to keep it safe until I find ye on the morrow. It means a great deal to someone verra special to me."

"Your wife?" she asked, cursing herself for caring.

"Nay. My daughter."

Chapter 3

"Think ye it is wise to just walk into the garden in the full light of morn?" Remi followed Taveon up the stone steps into a courtyard brimming with activity.

"How else am I to gain an audience with her?" Taveon knew walking into the Medici garden was unwise, but damned if he was going to skulk outside her locked window again. He should have taken the amulet on their first encounter and left. It was a miracle he'd managed to even find the damn stone. Admittedly, Noreen had been spot on with her description of Viviana right down to the color of her purple eyes.

The soulful melody of a lute did little to hamper his nerves as he rounded a sculpture of a merman seductively tangled with a well-endowed selkie.

Then he saw her, sitting on a bench beside a fountain; eyes closed, with lips blowing a sweet tune into a wind pipe.

Sweet Venus!
His breath snagged in his throat around the same time the scowl took over his face. Her gold and plum gown dipped far lower than he would have approved, pushing round globes of creamy temptation out of the top of her bodice. Only briefly did he notice her gold buttons were mismatched before his eyes locked on her breasts. They would easily fill his hands and, no doubt, be satiny, delicious, and—"

"Ye gods and little fishes! The lassie isnae afraid to show off her tits, aye?" Remi exclaimed.

Taveon twisted and glared at his kinsman, thinking he should have left Remi behind with Monroe at the bawdy house. "Your Meghan would not be pleased with ye."

Remi cleared his throat, blinked, and made a direct path toward Viviana. He blended into a throng of courtiers tapping toes to the melody of her song. The women danced in place with quick bobs while the men gawked at Viviana's breasts. Taveon controlled the urge to growl and took a place beside Remi.

Why should he care if the hizzie wanted to strip to her skin and prance about naked in the garden? It would undoubtedly be an erotic display, and Viviana would look spectacular—all curves and milky flesh dancing in the sunlight.

Blood filled his groin.

Damn-it-to-Hell!
Now was not the time for his cock to stand up. His plaid would hide evidence of his arousal, but these damn foreign hose would expose him as a lusty-guts. He clasped his hands in front of his groin and prayed he could control his lewd thoughts—the same kind of lustful thoughts that ultimately ended Nessa's life.

Her tune made a crescendo, gaining her even more attention until Angelo slipped in beside her, touched her elbow, and stared at him.

Her song cut off abruptly.

She looked directly at him. Her violet eyes widened then narrowed, and her wind instrument fell to her skirt.

Blind, my toe.
Taveon snorted.

"I thought ye said she was blind?" Remi whispered.

"'Tis what she claims." Taveon held the cat-like stare between them until she turned away, stood, and offered her admirers a dismissive bow. The cluster of people dispersed, after which she set her lute on the fountain's edge, took Angelo's hand, and dragged the boy in Taveon's direction.

"You are persistent, Laird Kraig." She punched one fist onto her round hip and used the other to squeeze Angelo's hand until the poor lad's fingers buckled.

Remi nuzzled in between them, forcing her back a notch. "I have yet to make your acquaintance."

With the hand not clamped on the boy, Viviana raised her fingers to Remi, palm down. "I am Mistress Viviana Gorini de' Medici Martinus da Vincenza."

"Ye gods! That's a big name."

"In truth, I was christened Monna di Viviana di Michele del Cittadino."

The way the woman rolled her 'r's sounded erotic in Taveon's ears and turned his bollocks to hard little stones.

Remi took her hand, blinked in double-time, and kissed her knuckles. "I'm Remi."

One delicate brow arced upward. "Do you mock me,
Signore
Remi?"

"Nay," he defended and lost his smile. "'Tis a nervous tic that worsens when I'm in the presence of a beautiful woman. Ye should see me around my wife."

Remi was too dim of wit to have caught her blunder. Taveon doubted the hizzie
heard
him blinking. He didn't know why she would lie, but admitted to being intrigued by her charade. "Mayhap, I could escort ye for a walk in the garden, Mistress Viviana." Taveon attempted to save Remi from further embarrassment and gain a moment with his Venus at the same time.

"And mayhap, you should seek an audience with my guardian instead. Messer Lorenzo is sitting with Master Botticelli beneath the archway."

"Botticelli is here?" Angelo swiveled, but she held tight to his hand.

He gave a little tug. "
Per favore
, mistress. I must meet the man. Take a walk with Goliath. He will not hurt you. Will you?" Angelo asked, his big brown eyes filled with protectiveness.

Taveon shook his head. "With so many guards afoot? 'Twould be foolish. I can assure ye, your Venus is safe with me."

Before she could argue with either of them, the boy made fancy work of prying her fingers open around his hand and darted back into the courtyard.

"Shall we?" Taveon offered her his elbow.

Instead of accepting, she dropped her gaze to the ground and balled her hands until her knuckles whitened.

"Please, Viviana. We've much to discuss." He set her fist atop his forearm and waited for her hand to curl around his arm. He felt her tremble the same time he saw the pulse in her neck kick her skin.

"I will rip the little hairs from your arm and scream if you dare to—"

Taveon laughed. Mayhap he would use a similar threat the next time he went to war. "I will not give ye a reason to become so enraged." He patted her hand, hoping to calm her spirits. "Remi, occupy yourself."

"Aye, m'laird."

Taveon guided her down a set of stone steps in silence and into a small grove of exotic fruit trees. The aroma nearly burned his nose. It was her scent but more tart—citrus without the sweet. Her black hair glistened beneath a high sun and her pale skin contrasted against his dark leathery arm.

He stepped over a cluster of fallen pears and wasn't surprised when she did the same. "The Medici Palace is an extravagant and wasteful place to live."

"Wasteful how?" She raised her skirt and took a broad step to avoid a fallen branch.

"The fruit lies rotten on the ground because the servants undoubtedly spend more time mixing paints than tending the harvest. To see such a display certainly changes my opinion of your great Lorenzo."

"Messer Lorenzo acts as the public face of the regime in the house of the great lords. He is renowned for maintaining political peace within the Italian states. He is a lover of music and poetry, and is a patron of the arts."

"Ye cannae eat art." This was not the topic he intended to discuss. In fact, he didn't know why he was discussing anything with her. If the amulet belonged to Lorenzo, then he was the man Taveon should be speaking with. "What is your relationship with Lorenzo?"

"I'm not his concubine, if that is what you imply."

"Are you his daughter? Ye bear his name." Taveon angled his head to look at her. "Among many others."

She stumbled, but caught herself on his arm. "Gorini is my maiden name. Medici is the name Messer Lorenzo gifted me with when he took me in after my sister died."

"And the other surnames?"

"Martinus belonged to my first husband and Vincenza belonged to my second." Not the slightest bit of mourning clung to her words.

"Ye hardly appear old enough to have been widowed twice." He released her hand and wondered if this was yet another lie. "One would think ye cursed to have loved and lost two husbands."

She faltered, but maintained his pace, her steps now much more cautious. "I'm one and twenty and my husbands' deaths have naught to do with your foolish curse or the amulet."

"Where did ye get the stone?" he asked her outright, though skeptical of the answer she might provide.

"My sister, Fioretta, gave it to Lorenzo to secure my place in the Medici household after she delivered my nephew."

"Are ye of noble bloodline?"

She gave an unladylike snort. "My birth mother abandoned my sister and I. We were fostered at
Spedale degli Innocenti
—an orphanage, Laird Kraig."

Impossible. The woman carried herself with more grace than Queen Margaret. "I'm curious as to how your sister came by such a valuable bauble in an orphanage?"

"I know not. I knew nothing of its existence until Fioretta died," she insisted.

Taveon stayed a half step in front of her and led them between two rows of citrus trees. She dodged clumps of fruit with the same accuracy as he. How could he trust anything she said when he was certain the woman lied about being blind? A quick glance over his shoulder assured him he would not be caught if he tested her. He brought his hand up swiftly in front of her face as if he might slap her with an open palm.

She didn't flinch. "If there is naught else you wish to discuss, I would like to return to the courtyard. I'm not as familiar with the grove's layout as I am the palace."

"Ye seem to be getting along rather remarkably for a blind woman." Just as he offered the back-handed compliment, her foot twisted on two rotten oranges. She released her skirt and held her hands out in front of her. Before he could catch her, she fell forward and landed flat on the ground, giving him a glimpse of her ankles.

Air rushed from her lungs with an audible gasp. "
Uffa!
"

"Forgive me." Taveon grasped her around the waist and yanked her back to her feet. Like a clumsy lad, he picked out the debris tangled in her black locks and brushed the tendrils away from her face.

"You insufferable Scot!" A litany of Italian curses followed. Her face reddened from embarrassment or anger, he didn't know which, but the flare of her nostrils and tilt of her chin told him he was about to be scolded.

"How can you promise to protect my life when you cannot even escort me through the grove?"

He was a complete arse. "I have my reserves about your sight."

"I
am
blind. It is a flaw most prefer to ignore." She tried to push out of his arms, but he refused to let go.

With his hands wrapped around her shoulders, he held her in place. "I'm not ignoring it, so much as questioning it. You looked directly at me in the courtyard and pointed out Remi's blinking habit. Ye stepped over the fruit with ease as well as the branch. Forgive me, but I'm hard-pressed to believe a blind woman is capable of any of these tasks."

"You were touching me," she blurted out and became even more flustered with this statement. Her lips tightened as did her fists.

The woman spoke in circles. Taveon searched for a reply to her response, but could find no words. The bit of orange he wiped from her neck led his wandering eyes straight to breasts which were impossibly farther out of her gown. He swore if she inhaled, her nipples would pop out. Saliva pooled in his mouth waiting for that fantasy to come true.

"And stop staring at my breasts," she yelled through clenched teeth.

"Weel, if ye wore a gown that covered your favors, I would not be tempted to ogle ye so." Taveon gripped the front of her bodice with both hands and yanked upward.