The Devil to Pay Read online

  Cara turned to Renata and found her studying her critically. “Now what?”

  “Hair.” Renata pulled the chair out for her and gestured for her to sit. “His lordship said if you cooperate you can use his solar and borrow some of his books.”

  Cara plopped herself down in the chair. “I know I should be immune to such blatant bribery, but it’s too tempting. Get your comb.”

  Five minutes later Renata stepped back with the flourish of a magician.

  Cara glanced in the mirror and gasped. Her erratic tangles had been tamed into a something actually resembling a style. An ivory comb pulled back each side. Pretty tendrils framed her face. She’d never seen herself look so feminine. It was a miracle.

  Renata gave a satisfied nod. “Now, if there’s nothing else you need, I’m going to make sure Pia’s not creating anything too outrageous.”

  When she was finally alone, Cara mixed the promised salve and the sleeping potion too. Ever hopeful, she pushed aside the dressing table, put her ear to the interconnecting door, and gave it an experimental push, but it refused to budge. Clearly one of the reasons his Satanic Lordship had survived thus far was because he took no chances with his personal safety.

  Opening the door to the corridor instead, she came face to face with her two guards, who snapped to attention. One was around her father’s age, with a lined face and greying beard, the other a few years younger than herself.

  She gave the younger one her most winning smile and held forward the small bowl of salve. “Would you deliver this to my lord del Sarto with my compliments?”

  A blush crept up the boy’s smooth cheeks. “He isn’t in the castle, my lady.”

  “Do you know where he is? When he’ll be back?”

  The boy nodded, like a puppy eager to please. “He’s overseeing arms practice in the bailey.”

  Her spirits dropped. There would be no chance of sneaking away with half an army assembled outside. Still, it was a good opportunity to take a peek at the defenses. “Take me there, please. I wish to see him. I take it I can leave my rooms?”

  The older guard looked both surprised and offended by her question. “Of course, my lady! You’re our honored guest.”

  She felt ashamed for asking. “All right, let’s go.”

  “Don’t you want to change into something else first, milady?” the younger guard asked incredulously.

  Cara glanced down at the shirt and hose she’d donned to make her medicines and smiled. “No, I don’t think so.”

  Anything to annoy her host.

  The guards positioned themselves on either side of her as they walked along the corridor. It was like being led to her own execution. “I’m sure I can find my own way.”

  “Il Diavolo’s orders. We’re here for your personal protection, my lady.”

  Cara snorted under her breath. Hah! Here to see she didn’t make another run for it, more like.

  After a bewildering series of twists and turns she abandoned any hope of being able to find her own way back to her room. They descended the main staircase, crossed the great hall, and stepped out into the bright sunlight of the bailey. The noise that greeted them was instantly familiar—the sound of fighting. Over a hundred men were practicing their skill at arms in the grassy area between the castle’s encircling curtain walls.

  “Captain Neroni.” The guards saluted as they approached.

  The captain at arms was observing the training from one side of the field. He turned to Cara with a welcoming smile.

  “My lady. Can I help you with something?”

  “I was looking for my lord del Sarto.”

  Neroni nodded toward the centre of the field. “You’ve found him.”

  Il Diavolo was right in the middle of the fray, demonstrating some complicated-looking move to a group of soldiers. Cara couldn’t take her eyes off him, the sleek economy of his movements as he fought. Compared to the less-experienced soldiers, whose arms were flailing about all over the place, he hardly seemed to move. Every action was smooth and deliberate, with a controlled grace that was a pleasure to behold.

  There was no obvious sign of any injury to his shoulder, but she lifted the bowl of salve. “I made some salve for him. For his shoulder.”

  The captain shot her a surprised glance. “He told you about that, did he? Huh.”

  The clash of metal drew their attention back to the field and Cara winced at the ferocity of the fighting. “It looks like quite a punishing regime,” she ventured. A young recruit limped off to the side, a trickle of red dripping from his jaw, only to be called back. “Don’t they stop when blood’s drawn?”

  “Not for something as minor as a broken nose,” the captain scoffed. “In a real battle your opponent’s not going to wait while you wipe the sweat from your eyes.”

  “I suppose not. Still, it looks a bit . . . brutal. My father never worked his troops so hard.”

  “Your father wasn’t as good as Il Diavolo.” The captain said bluntly. “It’s hard, but necessary. Those who can’t meet the standard are found other roles. There’s no room in the ranks for weaklings and cowards.”

  Across the bailey a great bear of a man was being escorted by two of the castle guards. He wore a leather breastplate over his shirt and scuffed brown boots and he looked fearsome, with huge shoulders and a bristling black beard that obscured most of his face. His hands were manacled at the wrists.

  “Now we’ll have some sport,” the captain grinned. “We captured that one in a recent skirmish.”

  Cara frowned as the guards released the prisoner’s manacles and handed him a sword. The man swung the weapon in a few wide arcs to test its weight. “You’re letting him go? Why have they given him a weapon?”

  “We challenge all our enemy prisoners so we can learn their fighting tricks. If they can best one of us in hand-to-hand combat, they’re released with the guarantee of safe passage home. If not, they have to swear allegiance to my lord and join us.”

  Del Sarto detached himself from the group and approached the stranger. His long legs closed the distance with cocky, confident strides.

  “Del Sarto’s going to fight him?”

  The captain nodded. “He won’t let anyone else do it.”

  “Has anyone ever beaten him?”

  He gave her a ‘what-do-you-think?’ look and turned back to the field.

  The prisoner unbuckled his breastplate and stripped off his undershirt in preparation. Del Sarto did the same, removing his own shirt to reveal a set of muscled shoulders and a tawny, rippled torso. There wasn’t an ounce of extraneous fat on him. Unlike his opponent, whose chest was covered in a thick mat of dark hair, his body was smooth and tanned and far too appealing. Cara’s mouth went dry.

  The two men shook hands then assumed a readying stance.

  Francesco continued. “He says he has to prove to the men that he’s worthy of leading them.”

  The two men circled each other slowly and she jumped as they came together with a terrible clash of swords.

  “We train our men for the worst possible scenario. That way, the real battles are easier than they expect.” Neroni said.

  Sunlight flashed off the blades. The two men fought with a level of dexterity that far surpassed any she’d seen. Cara felt herself growing hot—which was a troubling reaction, considering it wasn’t unseasonably warm in the bailey. Her body seemed to have a will of its own. It was stirring to life in the most alarming ways. And it was all his fault.

  She prayed His Dark Imperiousness would be knocked flat on his perfect arse.

  Chapter 12

  “Here comes trouble,” the captain growled under his breath.

  Cara glanced round to see Renata sauntering up to them with a twinkle of mischief in her dark eyes.

  “Now there’s a sight to gladden the heart!” Renata wiggled her eyebrows. “This is my favorite part of the week.”

  The captain frowned. “Get a hold of yourself, woman. You’ve seen enough naked men to last you a li
fetime.”

  “No harm in looking,” Renata laughed, unoffended by his tone. “And it’s not just me. Haven’t you noticed how many of the serving girls just happen to find an urgent errand in the bailey whenever it’s skill-at-arms practice?” She nodded at a cluster of kitchen maids, huddled and giggling near the doorway.

  The captain sent them a disdainful glance.

  “Not practicing yourself, Neroni?” Renata cast him a saucy look, raking him from head to toe. “Why don’t you strip off and join them? Show us what you’ve got. I tell you, you’ll forget how to do it if you don’t practice. Or are you too old for all that now?” There was a wealth of innuendo in her words.

  Francesco’s neck reddened. “I could best any of those saplings, and they’re half my age.”

  Renata chuckled. “I’ll take two boys of twenty-five over one man of fifty, any day!” She nudged Cara in the ribs.

  “Only because you can’t handle a real man.” Francesco turned on his heel and stomped away.

  “Like you?” Renata called at his retreating back. “Any time you want handling, Neroni, just let me know!” She noted Cara’s questioning look and sighed. “We’ve a long history, Francesco and I.”

  Her tone indicated it wasn’t something she wanted to discuss so Cara changed the subject. “We were talking about how the men are trained.”

  “I know it looks harsh, but Il Diavolo’s a good leader.” Renata glanced sideways at Cara. “You shouldn’t believe everything you hear about him. He works hard to maintain his reputation, but it’s mainly for effect. If the enemy doesn’t think there’s a chance of beating him, half the battle’s won before a sword’s even been drawn. He’s a brilliant tactician, too. If he finds out where the enemy’s troops are gathering, he’ll cut off their supply line. If they plan to ford a river, he’ll ambush while they’re halfway across.”

  Cara sniffed. “Those aren’t very honorable tactics.”

  Renata shrugged, her eyes on the fight. “Better a bloodless surrender than facing your enemy ‘honorably’ across a battlefield and losing half your men in the process. I’ve seen too many good men killed not to appreciate his methods, underhand or not.”

  The prisoner swung his sword in a huge arc. Del Sarto sidestepped and used the man’s imbalance to deliver a punishing blow to his side.

  Cara shivered, pricklingly aware of del Sarto’s body, the deadly strength apparent in the play of muscles across his back. Each strike was precise, calculated to inflict the maximum damage, but there was a poetry, a lethal grace in the economy of his movements. He was like a wild animal at the peak of its fitness. What would it be like to touch those hard planes and flexed muscles? She balled her hands into fists.

  What was wrong with her? Castelleon was littered with strong, good-looking men. She could barely turn a corner without seeing an attractive shirtless blacksmith or handsome foot soldier honing his muscles on the practice field. This man teased her. Mocked her. Was doubtless using her for his own devious ends.

  So why did the sight of his body affect her as no one else’s ever had? Her fascination with him was ridiculous. It was just a body. Just a collection of muscles and bones.

  Renata fanned herself with her hand. “I don’t know about you, but just watching them makes me hot!” She grinned. “All that sweaty flesh . . . ”

  Cara’s cheeks flamed. Was she that obvious?

  “He’s not just a fabulous lump of muscles, you know,” Renata inclined her head. “Watch how he fights. It’s not always orthodox, but it’s effective.”

  As if on cue, the two men engaged again. Del Sarto forced his opponent back with a punishing series of blows then used the hilt of his sword to land a brutal punch on the man’s face. Cara winced at the sound of bone crunching.

  A roar of appreciation went up from the crowd. The prisoner howled and staggered back, blood streaming from his nose, but he recovered to attack with a fresh assault.

  “Well done, my lord!” Renata shouted, cupping her hands around her mouth.

  The two men were still raining blows upon each other, each one bone-jarring. Neither showed any inclination to stop.

  “It looks like they’re actually trying to kill each other,” Cara remarked.

  “Don’t worry about Il Diavolo. He’ll be fine.”

  “I’m not worried.”

  “Oh really? Then why are you wringing the front of your shirt like that?”

  Cara released her clenched fists. “I’m wishing it was his neck.”

  Renata laughed.

  “I’m merely concerned about what will happen to me if he gets himself killed, that’s all,” Cara said.

  “No chance of that, look.”

  Sure enough, del Sarto had disarmed his opponent. The prisoner’s sword flew harmlessly to the turf. When the man tried to attack using his bare hands, del Sarto delivered a blow to his side with the flat of his sword and threw him to the ground. The prisoner flung both arms out in surrender as the blade pressed against his throat.

  Del Sarto stepped back and extended his arm. The prisoner allowed himself to be hauled up and the two men clapped each other on the back in a display of respect and admiration.

  Renata chuckled at Cara’s surprised expression. “I know. Men. Murdering each other one minute, sharing a pitcher of ale the next. And they say women are incomprehensible.”

  “Now what?”

  “The loser swears fealty to my lord.”

  Cara was well acquainted with the ceremony of allegiance. She’d seen it performed many times for her father as he received new men into his forces. She always enjoyed the formality of it, the solemnity of the Oath of Fealty. The vassal knelt before his lord in an act of homage. Clasping his hands together as if in prayer, he would swear the oath, promising faithful service. The lord would take the man’s outstretched hands and announce his acceptance.

  Both men replaced their shirts. The defeated soldier approached del Sarto and kneeled before him on the grass. Apparently they weren’t going to organize a specific ceremony inside the hall.

  Del Sarto looked completely at ease, every inch the disreputable prince. A lock of dark hair fell over his forehead and his tanned face was inscrutable as he surveyed his vanquished opponent. There was no hint of gloating at his victory, merely the certainty that this was his due, the natural order of things. That this man should bow to him in deference.

  The prisoner spoke his words clearly, for all to hear, and Cara let them wash over her, a flood of memories assailing her with the familiar cadences. She experienced a sharp stab of longing for her father, for everything she’d lost. Her throat ached with tears she refused to shed so she bit the inside of her cheek and concentrated on the pain instead.

  Del Sarto nodded his acceptance and clapped the man on the shoulder, signaling him to rise. The assembled crowd applauded and closed around to welcome the newcomer. Cara turned to go inside, but jumped at the sound of that rich, deep voice calling her name across the bailey.

  “Signorina Montessori!”

  She turned back. Del Sarto curled one finger at her. She hadn’t realized he’d known she was there, but he’d probably been aware of her presence from the moment she’d set foot in the bailey.

  “Yes?” she called out cautiously.

  His lips twitched in a diabolic half smile. “Now it’s your turn.”

  Chapter 13

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Come here and kneel to me.”

  His deep tones carried across the bailey. There was no mistaking the command. Or the challenge. Every head in the keep turned to look at her. The air buzzed with whispers. Cara shook her head and tried to turn, but a hand at the small of her back stopped her.

  Renata shoved her forward with a cheerful grin. “Better go. He hates to be kept waiting.”

  Escape was impossible, given the number of witnesses. Cara approached on shaking legs, eyeing del Sarto warily as he wiped sweat out of his eyes with his forearm. At least he’d put his shirt back
on.

  She stopped several feet away. “I don’t believe I heard you correctly, my lord. Did you wish to speak to me?”

  “You heard me.” He gestured to the ground with the tip of his sword. “On your knees.”

  “You want me to kneel to you?” She gave him her most disdainful look and lowered her voice so only he could hear. “In your dreams!”

  His smile made her stomach somersault. “Oh, I’ve certainly dreamed of you kneeling in front of me, Signorina Montessori. Ready to serve my every whim.” His eyes danced with unholy amusement and his hot gaze promised untold delights. He raked her from head to toe with an insolent, leisurely inspection that had her flushing to the roots of her hair.

  Cara raised her chin. “If you think I’m going to bow and scrape to you, you’re sadly mistaken.”

  “You’ll kneel to me, your new lord and master.” His voice was steel, implacable, and her cheeks burned with anger and humiliation. How dare he? She wasn’t some lowly foot soldier! She was the daughter of an Earl. Fury raced through her veins. She took a quick step forward and without really knowing what she was going to do, slapped him on the cheek. Hard.

  An audible gasp went up around the bailey as the crowd witnessed her rebellion. Cara was amazed herself. She snatched her hand down, wincing at the tingling in her palm. She’d never slapped anyone before. She watched with horrified fascination as the pink imprint of her hand slowly appeared across his tanned cheek. A pulse ticked in his jaw and she tensed, fully expecting him to backhand her across the bailey. Instead he gave her a chilling smile.

  “You want to fight me? Is that what it will take to prove you’re truly beaten?”

  She gazed at him, astonished.

  “I’m not known for being merciful, but I’ll give you one last chance. A new bargain, if you will.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I’m listening.”

  His eyes raked her masculine clothes. “You seem determined to be treated as a man, so I’ll extend to you the same offer I give all my prisoners. If you can beat me in single combat, you can go free.” She opened her mouth to argue but he held up a hand to stop her. “If you lose, you belong to me, body and soul. You’ll swear unconditional fealty. No more arguments, no more escapes.”