The Pirate Prince (46 page)

“Oh, God, God, don’t let them burn me, Allegra. Help me!”

One of the big men slapped him, and his shouts broke off. She searched the people’s faces around her. When the crowd quieted, there was no other sound but the popping of the blaze they’d made and a jangling harness as one of the carriage horses shook away a fly.

“Did not our Savior tell us to love our enemies, to turn the other cheek?” she asked, breaking the silence.

“This governor burned three of our sons at the stake!” an old woman shouted at her. “He, too, must burn!”

“Aye!” many cried.

Domenic stared at her and formed her name on his lips, too terrified to make a sound.

“You must not do this,” she said to the people with all the force she could muster. “Your king would not want this. Do you wish to displease your king? No one here would want to cross Lazar di Fiore. Trust me.”

“Aye,” one of the ex-Brethren agreed behind her.

The villagers looked around at one another.

Allegra licked her lips and forged on. “This man has wronged all Ascencion, not merely your village. It is the king’s right to sentence him, not yours.”

She could tell they were considering her words.

“When is he coming?” someone shouted.

“Soon,” she told them, heart pounding. “Listen to me. You must let your king deal Lord Clemente his own justice. Rely on it. His Majesty will serve truth—do not forget God has appointed him by divine right. Let my guards take Lord Clemente into custody.”

“He must be punished!”

“Not this way, good people,” she insisted, glancing around imploringly at all of them. “No more vendettas. If we are ever to know peace on this island, it must begin here. Now.”

They looked at one another.

“Oh, God, please,” Domenic wrenched out in a loud voice.

She looked over her shoulder at the former Brethren, but they, too, wore evil looks as they stared at Domenic. She realized they were still hungry to get back at him for having tortured the mercenaries whom Lazar had left behind on Ascencion with Mr. Jeffers.

“Gentlemen,” she said to them meaningfully.

The men looked at her skeptically, their sun-browned faces gruff under their smart new uniform hats.

“Let us not break any vows today,” she said, reminder enough that each had agreed to abide by Ascencion’s laws. “Take Lord Clemente prisoner, please, and douse that fire before it catches any houses.”

“Right,” Sully said. He was the first to march forward, elbowing one of the big village men out of the way.

They brought Domenic to her, and she took him into the carriage with her.

“Allegra,” he wept, “you are an angel, an angel.”

In the carriage, he laid his head in her lap and stayed like that, his arms around her waist, his whole body shaking, until they reached the convent.

The boy sat across from them and stared at her with a piercing look in his dark Spanish eyes. He glanced down at Domenic in contempt but never said a word. She avoided Darius’s steady, reproachful gaze, for she knew what he was thinking.

Capitán would not like it
.

These bloody interviews are worse than any hurricane
, Lazar thought grouchily.

Outwardly cool, inwardly exasperated, he spent the afternoon enduring the last round of negotiations and questions from a panel made up of Genovese Councilmen, Vatican officials, nobles from the powerful old Ascencion families, and representatives from the nearby Italian states, as well as ambassadors from the Spanish, French, and Viennese courts.

He had no idea how he managed to answer their questions, because all he could think about was Allegra and the unbearable sweetness of loving her last night, for the last time. He would never forgive himself for weakening so until he could no longer brook his need for her, but he had been so lost, so empty.
Her eyes were the color of cinnamon and honey, her skin was ivory, and she had sixteen freckles on her nose
….

Another barrage of questions from the canny old men.

Clearly the diplomats realized he wasn’t telling them everything about his past, but they were just going to have to content themselves with what he had decided to reveal, which was very little indeed. He was a king and would not be studied under their microscope.

In any case, he was well aware that all were more interested in how they and their countries could gain from his restoration, so it was to self-interest that he directed his responses, bypassing all direct references to his past mode of living with an urbane deftness that he thought would have made Vicar smile.

At last the formidable, golden-eyed Don Pasquale called the interview to an end.

“Gentlemen,” he addressed the Genovese party, “we have presented to you our overwhelming evidence of the authenticity of our claim. The moment has come to decide.” Pasquale glanced at his pocket watch for laudable dramatic effect. “Now, it is up to you either to renounce Genoa’s claim on Ascencion or fight at dawn.”

Lazar kept his face impassive, but he held his breath as the robed dignitaries conferred quietly at their table in the stateroom. As he watched the old men whisper, he wondered if these were the same Councilmen who had sentenced his family to death and had bought Monteverdi to aid them. But he steered his thoughts back to the present. The past was done. He truly did not want more bloodshed. Ascencion had suffered enough.

Finally the Councilmen looked up. “We do not wish to fight. God save the king.”

“God save the king!” the others cried, surging to their feet.

“God save the king!” Pasquale shouted, fist in the air.

Well, somebody had better save me
, he thought.

Allegra’s absence reduced his moment of triumph to tedium, but Lazar lifted his chin, looked stern and composed, and tried not to let anybody see his astonishment.

“Sire, as to the matter of Lord Domenic Clemente,” one of the Genovese Councilmen spoke up. “We wish to submit a request for amnesty—”

“Denied,” he said. “You shall hand him over to me.”

They gave him no argument, to his surprise.

All the men stood when he did, bowing low as he left the room. Lazar found it rather bizarre to be the object of such obeisance. Not bad for a former slave, he thought.

Don Pasquale followed him as he strode down the hall. They congratulated each other on their mutual victory.

“I’ve just been told Enzo arrived a few hours ago from Vienna with Princess Nicolette’s entourage,” Pasquale informed him. “Father Francesco is meeting with the bridal party at the cathedral tonight to prepare for the wedding tomorrow. You’ll be needed. The royal officer of ceremonies will be on hand, instructing everyone where to sit, stand, kneel, and so forth.”

Lazar heaved a sigh. “I suppose we might as well do it right,” he grumbled, then he stalked off down the passage, went into his cabin, and pulled the door closed behind him.

Allegra was not waiting there for him anymore. The little room was as empty as the burned-out shell of Castle Belfort.

He sat down heavily in the armchair, rested his elbows on his knees, and lowered his face into both hands. He rubbed his temples in defeat.

Fierce kitten
, he thought with that endless ache,
telling the king to go to hell
.

Don’t worry
, chérie, he thought.
I’m already there
.

When they arrived at the fortresslike medieval convent, Domenic had collected himself considerably. Rather than having any of the men leave to conduct Domenic to Lazar, Sully judged it best to keep the squadron together, for they had not heard if Lazar’s takeover from Genoa was final and official yet. Risks could still feasibly arise. There was even a slim chance of battle, which was the reason Lazar had sent Allegra to the fortified convent—the ships might yet be engaged in war. However, there seemed no hurry to bring Domenic to Lazar, for the young governor was so subdued by the horrific fate from which they’d saved him that he was completely docile.

For her part, after those nerve-rending moments at Las Colinas, Allegra needed to lie down. She was tired all the time these days, but that confrontation had completely drained her.

As her traveling trunks were unloaded, she and Domenic walked, surrounded by guards, into the huge convent. They found themselves inside the sisters’ dining hall, a dim, drafty vault all of stone, with a hearth at one end as tall as a man. No fire burned there now.

Domenic stood, searching her face with more feeling than she had ever seen him exhibit.

“For your guards, I am stationing men I know can be trusted not to abuse you. Lazar
will
sentence you,” she told him. “I don’t know what that sentence may be, but he will certainly not burn you. He is not an evil man.”

His green eyes flickered with a pained, hunted look. “Allegra, please. If you have any influence over him, I beg you, use it to make him grant me amnesty.”

She was silent for a moment, regarding him soberly. “I don’t have any influence over him, Domenic, and I’m not sure you should be given more than a partial amnesty at best. But I will say a word in your defense before he sentences you, if you desire.”

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Just then the plump Mother Superior glided toward her with a kindly expression, one tinged, Allegra thought, with pity.

“Miss Monteverdi, how good to see you again. We are all so glad you’ve come back safely. Come, I will show you to your chamber,” she said in a singsong alto.

“Thank you, Mother,” she murmured.

Darius carried her sea chest behind her as she left Domenic with the men and followed the nun across the dining hall to a flight of steps. Allegra glanced back to see how Darius fared under the large trunk. He paused to haul the chest up onto his shoulder. She looked ahead again, only to find at the top of the stone steps that their way was blocked by a quartet of young women richly dressed in light-colored silks, their throats and wrists studded with jewels.

Mother Superior bowed. “Your Highness. Ladies. Good day.”

Allegra heard a snuffling growl behind her and turned to find a brown bulldog, like a stocky little gargoyle in a jeweled collar, relieving itself on the stone newel post. Then, dewlaps swinging, it trotted over to a girl in their midst, jumped up to paw at the young girl’s knee, and was lifted into her arms with coos of adoration. Allegra realized she was standing face-to-face with the wife.

In spite of herself, she was awed.

Princess Nicolette looked like an angel. She was the first female Allegra had ever seen whose beauty exceeded Mama’s. Her hair was the color of winter sunshine, her skin was like fresh cream, her cheeks pale-pink roses, and her large, round eyes were cornflower blue. She appeared as if she had just fluttered down in trembling innocence from Heaven’s nursery to sit at Lazar’s feet.

God, between two such gorgeous people, their children would look like perfect little cherubs, she thought dismally.

“Is this the mistress?” the princess asked sweetly, addressing Mother Superior.

The ladies-in-waiting crowded closer to Nicolette and glared daggers at Allegra, who in turn recoiled at the way the princess allowed the ugly dog to lick her perfect face.

“Your Highness, an’ it please you,” Mother Superior said in her soothing tone, “it is His Majesty’s command that Miss Monteverdi stay here until the kingdom has been won.”

Nicolette blessed the woman with a radiant, dimpled smile. Her voice was candied pins.

“We would never dream of contradicting our lord and husband, but good sister, do see that this person’s quarters are situated as far from our wing of the building as possible. And we wish our king to note it is a scandal to our person that we must share quarters with a”—she drew herself up—“a woman of easy virtue.”

Allegra stared at her.

“Brigitta, inform the mistress it is bad form to gawk so at a queen.”

“Woman,” Brigitta dutifully told her, peering down her aristocratic nose, “one does not look into the eyes of a queen. Cast down your gaze!”

“I daresay you are not a queen yet, Your Highness,” Allegra murmured.

Mother Superior coughed.

“How common she is!” the third girl said in shock.

“How plain!” cried the fourth.

“There is no accounting for a man’s taste,” Brigitta murmured wisely.

“Truly, I don’t wish to be any trouble!” Allegra exclaimed, recovering from her astonishment by the barest measure. “Perhaps I should stay in the stable.”

“Yes, that would suit us well,” the princess replied with a gleam in her blue, blue eyes.

Allegra felt her face reddening. Nicolette’s angelic smile never faltered. She set her dog down, and it came sniffing at her. Allegra shoved at it with her foot, and it snarled a warning.

“The stable?” Darius growled at last, as if unable to contain himself any longer. “
Capitán
would not like that!”

The princess and the ladies looked over and suddenly discovered him.

They peered at the beautiful youth with great interest. He scowled back at them dangerously. Allegra refrained from rolling her eyes as they ogled him, but it made her almost ill to realize that if they thought Darius was handsome, they were going to swoon when they saw Lazar.

No doubt the king would soon be likewise besotted with his perfect little bride. She wondered if Lazar would whisper to Princess Nicolette, too, that he loved her.

In her drafty stone chamber, Allegra went to the window to look out at the view as she stood, hugging herself about the waist. Far below lay the sisters’ neat courtyard. In the distance, green hills spanned the horizon rather than the endless sea. The leaves were beginning to change colors for autumn, and from her vantage point she could see the last remaining tower of the charred, deserted Castle Belfort rising through the trees.

Her heart sank, remembering how they had planned to build the new Belfort over those ruins and on the surrounding land—their city—hers and Lazar’s, Ascencion’s gleaming new capital.

Now it would be Lazar and Nicolette’s shared project. Shared lives, both the joys and sorrows. Shared children.