“My lord.”
“Scargill! What the devil are you doing here?” He dropped the bolt of silk and rose to his feet.
“I think there may be trouble, my lord.” He saw Mr. Donnetti’s hand move to the slender stiletto at his belt.
“Very well, tell me what has happened.” The earl’s voice was controlled yet impatient, and it had the effect of making Scargill pour out Sordello’s story with scarce a pause.
“That is all?”
“The boy said there were four of them and they were a vicious-looking lot.” Scargill had done his duty, and waited for the earl to shrug and admonish him not to be an impressionable ass.
The earl turned to Mr. Donnetti. “Francesco, hire horses and bring two of your best men to the villa. I will assure that there is someone there to guide you further. Scargill, you said they mentioned Vannone’s hut?”
“Aye, my lord, the boy was certain about the name. Ye know the place?”
“Yes, I believe I do. It’s an abandoned shack, supposedly haunted by a blackguard, Vannone, long dead. Francesco, it lies about seven miles into the hills, west of the villa, just off the main road. Make haste, my friend.”
The earl turned quickly and strode to his desk. Scargill saw him stare for a brief instant at one of the dueling pistols before he thrust them into his belt. It was the pistol the madonna had shot him with.
Cassie pulled herself forward from her comfortable position against a tree trunk and squinted heavenward. “Oh dear,” she said, “I do believe the earl was right. I think a raindrop just fell on my nose.”
“Si, and because you are headstrong, we are both in for a good soaking.”
Cassie wrinkled her nose at him. “I suppose you will tell me now that you have not much enjoyed gorging yourself on the cold chicken and cheese. And the prospect is so beautiful. A little rain will not make us melt, Joseph.”
Joseph rose unhurriedly to his feet and sniffed the air. “We will return now, madonna. If you will not take care of yourself, then I must.”
“Very well.” She stretched her stiff legs and shook out her velvet riding skirt. “It has grown somewhat chilly, I will grant you that.”
Joseph’s toes were feeling prickly with cold, but he curbed a sharp retort. Her perversity, he realized, was part of her charm, and like his master, he was not at all immune to it. He quickly packed up the basket and tossed Cassandra into her saddle.
“The feather in your hat will be a wilted mess by the time we return,” he said, not without some satisfaction.
Cassie touched her fingers to the fast drooping feather and laughed. “If it will bring you pleasure, my friend, then I will pray for the clouds to flood us.”
He tried to frown at her, but failed. She was indeed a minx, he thought. It surprised him greatly that after some twenty-five years of silence, he had found himself telling her about his young wife, Maria, and their short year together on Corsica. A lifetime ago, yet when he was with the madonna, the happy memories stirred themselves into life.
It began to rain in earnest, and Joseph motioned to Cassandra to quicken her mare’s pace. He imagined the earl would have his head as it was, for returning her to the villa in sodden clothing. He corrected himself quickly, for the master was rarely unfair. It was Joseph’s self-willed mistress who would receive a good trimming.
Joseph reined in his horse at a sharp bend in the rutted, now slippery road, and looked skyward. Already the afternoon was shadowed and gray, and the air had turned a muddy color.
His horse snorted and reared back in surprise, and Joseph’s hands tightened on the reins. He looked down the winding road that crisscrossed in and out of the hills below them. Four horsemen, heavily cloaked, were riding purposefully up the road, several hundred yards below them. He felt growing alarm, for he recognized neither the horses nor the men. Suddenly, one of the men drew up, raised himself in the saddle, and scanned the hills above him. To Joseph’s horror, the man pointed at him and yelled something to the others. He could hear the pounding hooves as the galloping horses strained forward toward them.