CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 29

As I moved toward the great double doors that marked the master's suite, I stepped on that familiar creaking piece of stone. The crack sounded loud in the quiet.

My parents' chamber door flew open and Papà stood there in his robe, sword in one hand, dagger in the other, and bellicose fire in his eyes.

I stood frozen. The candle provided a feeble illumination, I feared Papà might not immediately recognize me, and I'd seen him in action before; it would not do to make a challenging motion.

As soon as he realized who I was, he lowered his weapons. "Rosie, child. Is all well? Do you need to speak to your mother?"

Most middle of the night visits were the result of nightmares for the younger children or womanly issues for Katherina and me, so the question made sense, but I curtsied. "No, my lord father. I have something to tell you." I changed my tone to plead, "Please don't be angry, Papà."

He stepped back into the suite and murmured a reassurance to Mamma, then returned to view me with some suspicion. "When have I been angry with you, Rosie? You're so prudent there's never any need."

That sounded like dissatisfaction. Had Papà, like Nurse, been waiting for life to sweep me off my feet? Was no one (except me) satisfied with me as I am? Had been?

"I haven't been prudent," I confessed.

"Hmm." He still didn't believe. "Let me be the judge of that."

"Lysander was here last night, as you know . . . and again today."

"Was he? Again today? To see you?"

"Yes, Papà."

"Should I plan a wedding?" He pinned me with his dark gaze. "Or a killing?"

I hastened to reassure him. "No, Papà. My virtue is safe. Lysander complimented you on your hedges and how well they restrained him."

Papà laughed, then sobered. "How did the lad get in?" I told him about the ladder and he frowned heavily. "That's a very tall wall that requires a very tall ladder and he should have been observed dragging it through the streets. I wonder if he had help?"

"I don't think so. He said something about . . . a ladder of special making."

"Ohhh. Interesting." Papà scratched at his chin and its growth of dark beard. "I've investigated Lysander. He has a reputation around Venice as the quietest of the Marcketti boys and, upon closer inquiry, the cleverest. A middle son wishing to prove himself. I don't think his appearance now, in Verona, is an accident."

Now I was suspicious. "You think he came here for what purpose?"

"A just question. I'll find out." His scrutiny strengthened. "You're in love at last, Rosie?"

"I fell in love with a pretty face, Papà. But he . . . he's funny, he's intelligent, and—"

"And he thinks you're wonderful."

"I said he was intelligent."

He chuckled. "Then you'll have brilliant children."

I clasped my hands before my chest. "Let's not tempt the Fates, Papà. We're a long way from that and in our family, the course of true love seldom runs smooth. Remember, the Montagues are still enemies of the Marckettis."

His face settled into grim lines. "Yes, I remember. Is that all you have to tell me, Rosie child?"

This next confession made me want to squirm. "After Prince Escalus and Princess Isabella left, the prince . . . returned."

Clearly I had startled Papà. "I saw him start down the street with the sedan chair. Why did he return?"

I asked tartly, "More to the point, how did he get in?"

"That I know. He has a key to our postern gate." Papà threw that off carelessly, as if I shouldn't be astonished.

Yet I was. "What? Why?"

"I gave it to him after Prince Escalus the elder was killed. I feared for the young man's life. I told him to keep the key close and if he had need, he could come here and the house of Montague would defend him."

Not that I expect to know everything in the family . . . but in my experience, in a family of this size, information usually leaked out. Prince Escalus the elder has been dead for eleven years, and for those eleven years Papà has quietly allowed Prince Escalus the younger to have unlimited access to our home? "That could be dangerous."

I could tell Papà wanted to pat me on the head and tell me to mind my weaving, but a man with six daughters knew better than to dismiss their acumen. "There was no danger, little one, the key's not marked and should he be taken, he would die before he gave up information on which lock it turned."

"You . . . risked so much for him?"

"For the House of Leonardi, who have long been the Montagues' allies and Verona's just rulers? Yes." Simple. Direct. Impressive, considering how cautious and protective my father could be.

I pressed a little harder. "Verona is better now. More stable. Surely he should return the key?"

"No one knows who killed his father. Someone is out there still, ready and eager to send Verona into disorder, seize power, destroy all that's noble and good and right and lawful." Papà frowned. "But you haven't told me why he returned or how you came to see him." With some humor, he said, "Please tell me he didn't play the balcony scene with you."

I looked at him, wide-eyed.

His mood changed in an instant. "I'll kill the canaglia." His sword rose and he started to stalk toward the stairs.

"No, Papà, no, please." I hurried after him and caught his arm. "I was on the terrace, looking at the moon."

"By yourself?"

"Yes, by myself!"

My indignation did nothing to impress him. "And?"

"Prince Escalus appeared."

"And?"

"He wanted me to carry his—"

"Baby?"

"No! Papà, stop! Sweet Virgin forbid. His dagger."

"His dagger?" Obviously, I'd done nothing to assuage Papà's suspicions.

"His blade. His knife. Like this!" I pushed up my sleeve and showed Papà the hilt and scabbard.

"This is his?"

"No, this is the one Nurse gave me today."

"How many weapons have you received?"

"Three. Nurse, Prince Escalus, and—"

"Lysander." Papà eyes stood half-shut, thinking thoughts that I hoped were not murderous. At last he nodded. "All were wise to be concerned about your safety. I was lax in not thinking of it myself."

"You've hardly had time," I reassured. "Events continue apace."

"That's hardly an excuse." Reaching out, he gently pulled my knife from its scabbard. "Hilt about your palm's length, sufficient cross guard to keep you from cutting yourself, and a blade about the length of your hand."

I measured my hand on my arm. "The blade is shorter than that."

"You can wear the scabbards and daggers and still bend your elbows?"

"I can." Although Lysander's did cause discomfort.

Papà ran his thumb along both edges. "Good and sharp. A cutting and slashing blade with a nice point." He handed it back to me. "Show me the dagger at your ankle."

"I don't have it on me, but the hilt is about the same and the point is needle sharp, the blade short and thin and without edges."

"A stiletto. You could pierce a man's heart with that."

"Yes, I could." My father was warning me I might have to.

With a cautious glance toward the bedroom door, he said softly, "Tomorrow, bring your weapons and meet me between the boxwoods where we're out of sight of the house."

"The usual area?"

"Yes. I'll inspect the blades and together we'll refine your fighting skills."

I flung my arms around his neck. "Papà, thank you! It's been too long since I've practiced with you. I've missed it."

"You're a good girl, Rosie, to come to me with this." He kissed my forehead. "I vow there'll be no more visits, day or night, from gentlemen of Verona or Venice or any other city-state seeking your unchaperoned company. I hate to kill them all . . . but I will." He sounded perfectly pleasant, and perfectly sincere.

I curtsied. "My lord father, to see young men's lives and limbs severed in my name would much grieve me. Shall I write messages and—?"

"Ere the sun rises, I'll convey my thanks to them for arming you, and suggest they'd feel foolish skewered on their own blades and, failing that, on mine."

Ere the sun rises?"Like . . . now?" A swift glance at his narrowed eyes and grim mouth clarified any doubt I had.

Yes, now.I hadn't handled that as well as I'd hoped. Mamma was right; my diplomacy lacks polish. Perhaps, like my swordplay, it needed practice. Which reminded me . . . "Papà, one last thing."

"Yes?" His voice vibrated with what might have been impatience or perhaps escalating worry.

As quickly as I could, I said, "Prince Escalus wants us to teach Princess Isabella how to defend herself."

Papà stared at me and shook his head. "Of course he does."

"He could do it himself!" Obviously.

"No, he can't. He's her brother. She'd never listen to him. He'd have as much luck teaching her to ride a horse." As if I was about to protest, he raised an admonishing hand. "She won't be the first one of your friends I've taught to fight."

"Unlike Titania, Isabella won't fall in love with you." I curtsied again and backed away, allowing the slightest grin to warn him.

He sighed mightily. "All right, tell me. Why should I be spared this time?"

"You're old enough to be her grandfather."

"Wench!" He faked a lunge.

I turned to flee and stepped on the same cracking stone again. It repeated that sharp popping noise. I halted, one foot in the air. "My lord father, you don't fix this because it serves as a warning that someone is outside your door."

"Yes."

"You could have simply told me."

"Daughter, needing an alarm indicates caution, and I want you always to feel safe in your home."

I thought about the various creaks and groans of Casa Montague. "You have other such assurances set about."

"I'd be a fool not to, and a grandfatherly man with seven children and another one on the way cannot afford to be a fool." He made a shooing gesture. "Scamper back to bed now. I must speak with your mother. When I go out, she worries about a man of my advanced years."

"You know women swoon for one glance from your dark, Satanic eyes."

"So I constantly remind your mother."

"Does that impress her?"

"She flutters her lashes at me and I'm enslaved once more."

He returned to Mamma and I "scampered" back to my room and ignored the ache of knowing that unless the Marckettis would accept a lesser dowry for their excellent son, Lysander, I'd never know a love so true.