CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 23

"Lysander?" I turned to face him, caught a glimpse of his dazzling face hidden in the hedge, and hurriedly faced front again. It would not do to call attention to him. "What are you doing in the Montague garden? Again? Trying to get killed? Again?"

"I couldn't stay away. I came over the wall."

"How? How? The hawthorn hedge is deep and thorny."

"I bring a ladder of special making of round, hollow wood that comes with our ships from the east. It has hinges to fold it; I can carry it through the streets myself."

"Don't you get odd looks?"

"And odd comments, let me tell you! I put it on the wall, climb up, balance on the top, pull up the ladder, then place it on top of the hedge and jump into the garden, preferably somewhere soft."

Much struck, I asked, "Does it work well?"

"Mostly. Once a hinge gave way and I landed on . . . somewhere not soft."

At his tone, I gurgled with laughter.

"Limped for a week and modified all the hinges. Felt like fortune's most laughable fool. If I could get enough of that eastern wood, I could sell all the ladders."

"I have never thought of such a thing."

"You couldn't. The Montagues aren't a family famous for skulking and invention. The Montagues are famous for fighting and f—er, romance."

A smile twitched my lips. "And wine."

"The Montague wine is the envy of all the city-states and beyond." He bobbed his head in proper respect. "A single drop of their wine on my tongue is a memory to cherish forever."

Not idly, I asked, "Would you rather have me or the wine?"

"You, lady, for then . . ." He trailed off.

I chuckled softly. "For then you'd have both."

"I'm a greedy man." His tone changed, grew heavy with warning. "For that reason I had to warn you. I heard what your father said. I heard what you said. Gossip is rife on the streets. You know the peril you're in. I must help." The branches crackled as he pushed at them, sliding closer. "I must arm you."

I blinked. "Say what?" I'd had the conversation before.

"Everything that's happened since last night is a blur of horror, and it's all aimed at you. Can you see that?"

"It's been called to my attention, yes." I half turned toward him. "Nevertheless, you shouldn't be here. My father is swift with a blade and not always thoughtful beforehand. He's the best swordsman in the family, but not the only. You could be dead before you or I could explain your good intentions, and when you explained you wished to help me, you would almost certainly be skewered by one and all."

"I'd face death for you."

That was so blithely stupid, I wanted to snort in derision. It was also so romantic I took out my handkerchief and fanned my flushed face.

Yet even in an amorous tizzy, I could be prosaic. "If my kinsmen believed I had disgraced myself with you, they'd skewer me, too."

"All the more reason that you should be armed. Unlace your cuff." Lysander's intense voice raised the hair on the back of my head.

"Why?"

"I have procured a blade and holster for you." He showed me a leather holster, stamped with many designs to ward off the wicked one and with metal buckles instead of leather ties, and a blade a little longer than the one Nurse got me. Working his hands through the tangle of branches, he said, "Unlace your cuff."

I stared into his green eyes, stricken by how swiftly he'd moved to find protection for me and loving him all the more.

He stared into my eyes, also, and perhaps he found something there he hadn't seen before, for when he repeated, "Unlace your cuff," his chest rose and fell with need, and his voice was rough with passion.

I reached for my left cuff.

But sense brought me to a halt. Nurse had given me the weapon for that arm. When I changed into my present garb, believing I would be safe at home, I had discarded it, but I feared the marks of the leather binding lingered. So I switched, unlaced my right cuff, and bared my wrist.

Lysander looked at my smooth, pale skin with such pleasure, I wondered what he'd do for a glimpse of breast. It would be almost worth . . . No, no. Don't travel that road, not even in your mind.

He leaned out of the bushes.

As if enthralled by his splendor, a branch caught his cap, pulled it off, and held it close. His dark blond hair gleamed, tempting me to touch it, to see if it was as silky as it looked. No, not that, either.

He pressed a kiss on my inner wrist, a touch of soft lips against tender flesh.

I sighed with delight and gave into temptation. I slipped my fingers into his hair and pushed a strand behind his ear, lingering over the texture.

Driven to a frenzy by my gentle caress, he lunged forward to kiss my lips, to embrace me!

But the bushes gripped his waistcoat in their inexorable grasp and yanked him back.

I laughed—possibly not the best response.

After a moment, he grinned and fingered the newly created hole in his sleeve. "I commend your father on his wisdom in planting such virtuous hedges."

"I won't tell him."

"Please don't. I've heard enough to fear your father's sword." He strained to stretch out far enough to fasten the scabbard around my arm. "I have no desire to become a skewer of porchetta."

"Light the cooking fires!" I proclaimed.

"Heartless wench." He grinned again, leaned back with a moan, and with his handkerchief wiped a trickle of blood off his neck. "I tell you, between the thorny brambles beside your formidable garden wall and the branches on this devil plant, your virtue is kept safe."

"Perhaps you should have armed me with a hedge?"

He snorted. "Have I mentioned how much I adore your quick wit?"

"No, but you should. I'm susceptible to flattery."

"It's not flattery if it's true." In one of those lightning changes of tone, he said, "Now—should you feel in peril, you can pull the dagger out and make porchetta of your attacker. Try it now."

I slid my left hand up my right sleeve, grasped the hilt, slid the blade out, and lunged at the hedge. "Let him go, branches!" I commanded. To Lysander, I said, "It's not working."

"A hedge that knows its duty. That was a good thrust." Lysander sounded almost puzzled. "Have you done this before?"

My father taught me the basics of sword fighting, and my nurse demonstrated how to pull a dagger from my other sleeve, but—"I'm a fast learner." I slid the blade back into the scabbard and changed the subject before he could ask more. "Lysander, last night in the walnut tree—what exactly happened?"

"I'm not sure."

I would tell him of the vandalism of the tree, but first I wanted to hear what he knew. "Thoughts?"

"As I lay across the broad branch and conversed with wit and passion most meaningful, a noble goal formed in my mind, to match my unworthy lips to your ripe, lush mouth. As I inched forward, I flattered myself that you desired that glorious communion. I closed my eyes and leaned and"—the memory made him look both alarmed and disconcerted—"something hit the branch."

"Something?"

"Something big. Heavy." He took a breath. "Someone."

"You jest!"

"One of your kinsman, perhaps?"

My eyes narrowed. "Unlikely. If it was, shouting would have preceded and more shouting would have followed, and I would have been hard-pressed to save you from mincing. More like it was my nurse."

"Your nurse can climb a tree?"

"I wouldn't put it past her." Yet when I remembered how that night she had stared at me, then at the branch, I didn't believe it. "But unlikely. You're saying that the extra weight of . . . someone . . . snapped the branch and you plummeted to the ground."

"I landed on my back. The branch landed on me."

"The other . . . person?"

"I don't think anyone else hit the ground, but the impacts knocked the breath from me, then the wit, and I rested senseless in the grass for a time out of mind. When I woke, a man was dragging me by my heels through the unlit garden. The gravel on the path scratched my head and tore my clothes." Lysander touched the back of his head with a wince. "I lifted my head to cry out, and he commanded silence on my life."

"He threatened you?"

"Indeed. With his voice and demeanor, I didn't care to test him. He asked where I was staying in Verona, and as I pulled my thoughts together, he dragged me farther and farther along the hedges. At last I told him I was staying with my uncle, and begged him to let me walk. He dropped my legs and waited while I struggled to my feet, then roughly shoved me through the garden while giving me the rundown on all the people Lord Romeo has defeated in his long and varied career with a sword."

"That's how you heard?"

"Yes, and a most impressive list it is. We arrived at a hidden door. His man awaited us, and I feared I was being handed over to an assassin."

I pressed my hand to my chest over my rapidly beating heart. "Yet you are here, now. I rejoice!"

"I rejoice, too." His dry voice lifted my spirits. "My rescuer, for I must call him that, directed that I be returned to my kinsman and I was led onto the dark street and back to the family home."

I gave voice to despair. "Lysander, why must you be of the house of Marcketti, and my enemy?"

"I'm not your enemy and I'm not the enemy of the Montagues." He surged forward, restrained again by stiff branches. "I swear to you, I have more than one reason to heal this breach!"

In a voice full of woe and crushing disappointment, I asked, "It's not just me?"

"No. Yes! I mean—" He caught sight of my smirk. "You're a vixen."

"I have my moments."

He leaned toward me. Still the trimmed boxwood branches clawed at him, held him back.

I resisted the urge to grasp him by the collar, for I could lean in, and did. My first kiss. At last! A moment to savor! An experience to explore! If all was as ecstatic as my parents had led me to believe, an experience to explore again and again!

I half closed my eyes. I viewed Lysander's perfect and handsome countenance grow nearer, and my breath tripped in anticipation. I wet my lips and felt the admiration of his gaze brush my face with the soft warmth of a puppy's head. I was ready. So ready. For this and more.

Then . . . Then! Because I was the most cursed of women, I heard running feet on the path from the house.

I couldn't believe it. I could not believe it. I stomped my foot like Emilia having a tantrum and said words no lady should know. "Che cazzo?"

"Rosie!" As Lysander slid back and out of sight, he sounded shocked.

To relieve my frustration a little more, I stomped my foot again, then saw that which would betray us, and whispered urgently, "Your cap!"

His arm snaked out, plucked the atrocious magenta cap from the hedge's rapacious grasp, and with only the slightest tearing sound, whisked it away.

Tommaso raced past.

I called him. "Tommaso, come back. Why are you running?"

He returned and stood gasping, holding his side. "The prince is here. Prince Escalus is here to see his sister!"