Part 20 (2/2)
”Murder! No.”
”Ahhhh.” Maybe Luigi and the groom had made it away. G.o.d, but she hoped so. She hated to think they had lost their lives for her. ”Just wondering.”
”Here. Now trade fair and square.”She turned to find the boy in his flaxen smalls, holding out his articles of clothing. She gave him the sausage, and he took off running toward the village, apparently unconcerned at his near nakedness. So, using the cover of the lemon grove, she struggled out of her dress and half-corset, put the lad's stockings over her own, pulled on the breeches and s.h.i.+rt and slipped her feet into the stiff leather shoes. They were still too big. It didn't matter. She tied the ap.r.o.n about her neck and waist and twisted her hair up in her cap. There.
But who would not recognize her scar? She took some damp earth and rubbed it over her cheek and her temple. Maybe. Now where on earth was she going to get a cart? Back to the butcher...
By the time she was through the gates of the villa she was breathing hard just from willing the horse to move faster. She pulled him round to the old part of the building near the chapel, the cart wheels creaking, and asked him to halt, a command he was most eager to obey.
She dashed back to the newer wing, painted palest pink, and looked up to where the lights had been on last night. Everything was shuttered. The sun was just past its zenith. It beat down, hot on her face, and reflected off the walls of the villa in that brilliant Mediterranean light that drove artists to their canvases in a frenzy. Insects buzzed in the garden but all else was silent.
Surely, the vampires would be fast asleep at this sunniest of times. She took slow breaths and closed her eyes. Calm. Silent.
That was what she was.
She found a pa.s.sageway into a shadowed cloister that gave onto a huge room with pointed stone arches that held up the newer part of the building. The moist stone reeked of the thirteenth or fourteenth century. And there at the far side was a stairway leading upward. She hurried up the stairs to a stout wooden door. She tried the latch. Of course it was unlocked. Who would dare to steal from the Villa Rufolo? She took off the boy's clunky shoes, and let herself in. The room beyond was one of the salons she had seen this morning. She recognized the chandelier. But she wanted bedrooms. She stole along the Turkey carpets to a door at the other side of the room. Yes. A corridor. The bedrooms would be off a corridor.
The doork.n.o.bs were almost at her shoulder height, and made of the finest porcelain. As a matter of fact, the entire villa was furnished in the first style, Baroque and Rococo veneered sideboards, chandeliers dripping with Venetian crystal, silver epergnes as big as she was. Once she would have been looking for plate and silver and jewels in a house like this. Something about jewels niggled in her brain.
She checked each dim room until she came to the one that held Sergei. His snoring filled the hall. She slipped inside. Control your breathing. You are air. You are vapor wafting over the carpet. Sergei's ma.s.sive form under the coverlet was still except for the rise and fall of his chest. She slid over to the wardrobe, timing her movement to the snorts. The wardrobe door clicked, once, as she opened it. She froze. But Sergei sawed on. Boots, s.h.i.+rt, coat, and a cloak. She pulled open a drawer on Sergei's buzzing intake of breath and grabbed stockings, smalls, cravat. Holding her breath entirely, she crept out of the room.
In the dim tiled hall she exhaled. Now for Gian. Would he not be amazed and relieved to find she had engineered the whole?
She had a solution for his nakedness, a cart to get them down to Amalfi, and a disguise for herself. They could get a better carriage in Amalfi. Surely his credit was good in these parts. Someone at the s.h.i.+pyard must know him. And then they would go back to Firenze and...
b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l.
She could see it now. He wouldn't go back to Firenze. He wouldn't be happy with her arrangements at all. The d.a.m.ned fool.
He wouldn't leave the stones to Elyta. His b.l.o.o.d.y inconvenient sense of duty would demand he try to complete his stupid mission. She could just see him blundering around the villa making who knew what noise as he tried to steal the jewels back. She stood in the salon staring, unseeing, at the unfamiliar ragged boy in the great, gilt-framed mirror over the mantel of the fireplace.
d.a.m.n the man to h.e.l.l and back.
She retraced her steps. The stones would be in Elyta's room.Gian crouched in the corner, as much of himself covered with the fur as possible, not moving. A sense of failure pervaded him, along with the itching burn of light along his skin even under the fur, worse where his feet and shoulders were exposed. In a few moments, the sun would be at the right angle to s.h.i.+ne directly through the little rose window above the door and fill the room with direct sunlight. It wouldn't be as bad as the bubbling flesh he'd experienced when Elyta had chained him naked in its channel of radiance, but it would be no evening picnic.
He lifted his head only at the sound of the lock being opened. It could not be much past two. Elyta would have to transport inside the room. She wouldn't come through the sunlight outside. A flicker of hope sprang up and was ruthlessly suppressed. He stood. If it was she, he didn't want her to see him crouching. He vowed that he would curse her, at least inside his mind, with his last breath.
The door swung wide. A figure was silhouetted against a blinding light. A man. Gian covered his eyes. It wasn't anyone he knew.
The figure was short, and... lumpy. He hissed in a breath and turned away.
”Sorry about the light.” The door swung shut with a thunk.
Kate! He squinted against the light that remained in the chamber. He couldn't quite see. It didn't look like Kate. The figure moved into the shadow and bent over him. It was Kate all right. She was dressed in rough peasant's clothing, an ap.r.o.n, and stocking feet, her hair tucked up under a cap with a short brim and her face muddied.
”Are you all right?” she asked.
She had come back for him. He was touched. And angry. Nothing had changed. ”You were going to get out of here, remember?”
”We're both getting out of here.” She tumbled some clothes at his feet. He stared at them. Men's clothes. Boots. Even smalls and a cravat. They smelled faintly of cinnamon. He looked a question at her. ”Sergei. He was the only one whose coat might remotely fit your shoulders. Now could we have a little haste, please?” She raised her brows, exasperated.
He stood and threw off the cloak. Immediately, the discomfort of the buzzing burn along his skin ramped up. He pulled on the s.h.i.+rt first. ”You stole these from the house while they were sleeping?” By Jupiter, the girl was brazen. She shrugged, and motioned him for haste.
Everywhere his skin was bare the light sc.r.a.ped at him. ”Even with clothes I won't make it far.” He didn't mean to growl at her.
”Leave now, Kate.”
”I brought a cart. It has a tarpaulin. Between the clothing and the tarpaulin I thought you might survive the sun.”
He paused to look up at her. She was frowning, anxious. He shrugged a grudging a.s.sent and she relaxed. ”You acquired clothing for yourself, clothes for me, and a cart all in... in about ninety minutes?” Astounding.
”It will all come to naught unless you hurry. The cart will be missed soon.”
”Yes, yes,” he muttered, pulling on the breeches. She was tapping her foot. For heaven's sake, she'd brought boot pulls. He slipped them into the tabs at the insides of a boot and pulled it on. She threw the cravat around his neck.
”Don't bother to tie this now. We must be off.”
He straightened, as realization came cras.h.i.+ng in on him. ”I must do one thing first.”
She sighed. ”You are so predictable.”
He drew himself up even taller and looked down at her. ”I have my-” ”Yes, yes, your duty.” She fished in the pocket of the trousers that were loose around her waist and a little tight over her hips.
She held up her reticule, the silver one with beading she always carried. It was full and lumpy. She pulled open its drawstrings and took out a little silver box. ”There.” She snapped it open. Inside nestled the great emerald. ”I have the ruby too. I knew you wouldn't leave without them.”
”You stole them from under Elyta's nose?”
Kate shrugged. ”They were asleep. I'm very quiet.” She raised her brows again and pointed to the coat. ”I got my reticule back too. The money and my tarot deck were still inside.”
He grabbed the coat and shrugged into it. Not hard, since it was a little big across the middle. Sergei had something of a paunch.
He took the two boxes and put them into the coat pockets. He nodded, steeling himself for the coming ordeal in the sun. ”Let's go.”
”Wait.” She threw the cloak over his head before she opened the door. The rays felt like a rasp against even the skin that was covered. He was d.a.m.nably weak. Light blinded him where it bounced off the rock of the walk and up under his shroud. If only he had his spectacles of dark blue gla.s.s, he might be able to see. ”Go,” he said through gritted teeth. ”I'll follow.”
”Nonsense.” She put her arms around his shoulders to guide him. He stumbled beside her, trying to breathe, nearly blind. They reached the shade of the cypress grove at the end of the house. He smelled horse, recognized the wheel of a cart. She pulled at ropes that tied down the tarpaulin. He crawled up under it and was surrounded by the smell of cheese and raw meat and sausages, fresh-baked bread and the yeasty smell of a cask of wine. He pushed everything aside and crouched next to the cask.
The pain of the sun eased and he heaved a breath. He heard the hiss of hemp as she tied the tarp down.
Relief shot through him. Then a nasty thought intruded.
”Can you drive a cart?”
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