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thought that burst from my lips. Then, feeling myself blush
at such foolishness, I promptly added, “That is, I did not ex­
pect to stumble over you like this.”
“Ah, you wound me, my dear Delfina,” he replied, his
grin widening just a bit. “I might have hoped that you had
deliberately come here to see me, perhaps to thank me again
for rescuing you yesterday. Tell me, how is your arm?”
“I do thank you, Captain. . . and my arm continues to
improve,” I replied, my blush deepening at his banter. “The
Portrait of a Lady
193
contessa insisted that I be treated with one of Lidia’s potions,
which she said should keep the wound from scarring.”
“One of Lidia’s potions, eh?”
A shadow darkened his expression, and he loosened his
grip on me. At his reaction, I silently chastised myself for
this error, fearing I might have revealed too much. In the
next heartbeat, however, I realized it did not matter. He
could not know that I knew Lidia was his mother, or that I
had witnessed him at the scene of her death acting oddly
unmoved by the event.
Thus, I nodded and innocently replied, “The contessa
and her women all say she was very wise. I am sorry that I
did not have the chance to know her.”
“Yes,” was his only reply. Then, with a quirk of one dark
brow he asked, “Are you here to see me, after all, or were
you waiting for one of my guards to join you up here?”
“One of them?” I squeaked in unfeigned outrage, pictur­
ing the two crude soldiers I’d just left. Then, realizing from
the amused twist of his lips that he was once again jesting,
I allowed myself an answering smile.
“I am here to see you, Captain, but I fear not on my own
behalf. I have an important missive for you,” I said and pulled
the folded cloth from my sleeve. He gave a small nod of recog­
nition and took it from me.
“So you are the contessa’s new messenger.”
With those wry words, he plucked the knife from his
boot, its keen blade glinting in the flickering flames of the
brazier. With the same ease with which he’d previously cut my
ravaged chemise, he sliced the neat stitches that held the cloth
together and pulled forth the note hidden within.
Stepping over to the brazier, he leaned against the stone
wall and unfolded the page. He studied it for so long that I
wondered if the message within was something quite dire.
And then another explanation for his silent concentration
abruptly occurred to me.
After all, he was a soldier, a mercenary. What opportunity
194
Diane A. S. Stuckart
would a man of his station have had to learn more than a
cursory bit of reading and writing, just enough for him to
mark his name when he received his pay? Moreover, I had
seen an example of Caterina’s hand, with its flowing style as
elaborate as found in any priestly manuscript. Perhaps, un­
lettered as he was, the captain was having difficulty making
out the contessa’s words.
“I could read it to you, if you wish,” I tentatively sug­
gested, not wishing to embarrass him but feeling it my duty
to make the offer. Besides, how better to find out just what
it was that Caterina’s missive said?
He glanced up from the page and slanted an amused look
in my direction. “Your offer is kind, but quite unnecessary.
You may rest assured I have some competency in that area.”
Then, as I started to offer a blushing apology, he waved
me to silence, adding, “Of course, you would have been
quite right to assume that I did not spend my boyhood un­
der some priest’s tutelage. In fact, I was quite the savage un­
til my sixteenth year. But I was fortunate enough when I
first joined Il Moro’s troops to befriend an older man who
had received a true scholar’s education. He took me under
his wing and taught me enough of academic matters so that
I might pass as a gentleman.”
A slight smile played about his lips. “I proved an apt pupil,
as much to my surprise as to his. Later, on my own, I even
picked up a fair smattering of Latin,” he said, momentarily
switching over to that language in demonstration. Then, re­
turning to his native tongue, he added, “I’ve a bit of Greek, as
well. Would you care to hear a few verses of the Iliad ?”
“That is not necessary,” I assured him, my blush deepen­
ing as I realized how badly I had misjudged him.
Here I had worried about embarrassing the man, and yet
it was I who was suffering from mortification; still, that
emotion was tempered by no little admiration. Gregorio
was rather like the Master, I told myself, in that he was a
self-taught man. Indeed, the captain of the guard was a man
of many secrets.
Portrait of a Lady
195
While I struggled with my discomfiture, he must have
gleaned what he needed from Caterina’s note, for now he
tucked the paper into his tunic. I eyed that action in mild
alarm, recalling the contessa’s assurances that he destroyed
all her messages lest they fall into the wrong hands.
“Captain, will you not burn it?” I boldly asked with a
nod at the glowing coals.
He shrugged and straightened, walking back toward me
with the handkerchief still in hand. The fading sunlight
and the red glow of the brazier behind him wrapped him in
a fiery mantle that reminded me again of a fallen angel.
And, once again, the sight set my heart to beating a bit
faster.
“Perhaps later,” was his lazy reply. “And you may tell the
contessa that my answer is yes.”
“Very well, Captain,” I replied with a quick curtsy.
He smiled a little and shook his curly dark head as he
halted mere inches from me. “My dear Delfina, you need
not be so formal. Leave off with your bowing and scraping.
And perhaps you will simply call me Gregorio.”
With those words, he tucked the scrap of lace into my
bodice in a shockingly intimate gesture that made me gasp
aloud. I took a reflexive step back, though the shiver that
swept through me was not entirely one of alarm.
He favored me with a hint of that grin, at once dangerous
and enticing. “I hope you will continue to be Caterina’s mes­
senger,” he softly said. “Now, shall I walk you back down
those stairs, or would you care to stay here a bit longer?”
I knew what it was he offered, and one vain, reckless part
of me longed to accept. Then I thought of Caterina, and the
Master, and my resolve returned.
“I-I must return to the castle, Captain,” came my some­
what breathless reply. “The contessa will be awaiting my re­
turn and your answer. And I can manage the stairway alone.”
“As you wish.”
The lazy grin broadened, and I knew that he knew I had
been tempted by his proposal. “Until the next time. And do
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