"Elizabeth Gilligan - Silken Magic 01 - Magic's Silken Snare" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gilligan Elizabeth)

devil to find time alone.
He remembered the long coach ride to the palazzo. Alessandra spent most of the
trip peering out the curtained window and exclaiming on the wonders of the
countryside, all the while oblivious to the suppressed passions of her traveling
companions.
Word from the front dashed his hopes to remain in Tyrrhia with Luciana. The
alliance of the kingdoms against the Turks was crumbling under the battle of egos
among the generals. He was not long at the front before he received news from
Luciana that she expected a child.
Over the years of their marriage, Luciana had formed a deep friendship with his
sister and had been witness to the queenтАЩs succession of miscarriages. Two years
before she delivered a child. Luciana spent weeks at the palazzo when the ague
devastated the capital city. In her arms, little Princess Ortensia Marie took her last
breath. With news of her own child to come, Luciana begged him to return home.
How many letters had he sent her, during her time of confinement, telling her that
he must stay but another few days, not more than a week? It seemed duty to the
crown and destiny plotted against them. Then came the dayтАФhe shuddered,
rememberingтАФwhen the messenger brought news. The childтАФhis child, LucianaтАЩs
childтАФarrived before the father. The child came too soon and the father . . . not at
all.
LucianaтАЩs letter contained but four words. тАЬOur son is dead.тАЭ His cousin,
Prunella, whom he had sent to be with Luciana until he arrived, said more.
AlessandraтАЩs letter had been kindest of all, assuring him that the reports of LucianaтАЩs
curses were, according to her grandmother, quite common when the pains came and
a natural part of grief.
Stefano sighed. Memories did not ease his thoughts. How was he to keep Luciana
at the estates and, hopefully, out of harmтАЩs way? Since he failed her by neither being
with her when the boy was born nor returning to help her grieveтАФa bit of cowardice
for which he could never forgive himselfтАФby what right could he command her to
stay or go, or even ask her to trust him to investigate the very curious circumstances
of AlessandraтАЩs death?
He closed the lid of the box and turned the lock. He took another sheet of paper.
LucianaтАЩs safety came before all else and that meant she must stay at the estate.
Later, after he had settled this matter, then perhaps he could offer his apologies for
this and his other crimes. With a deep breath, he picked up the pen to write the letter
he must. He took the tone of an officer to his men, hoping that in the midst of
LucianaтАЩs grief, she would respond to direction and strength.
After he was done with the writing, he folded the papers, sealed them, and packed
them into the royal courierтАЩs pouch. He shrugged into his coat, clapped on the
plumed hat and medal-bedecked sash that distinguished him as an officer, and went
in search of the courier in the mess tent.
The rain came down heavily, drenching his coat through and through before he
reached his destination, just a stoneтАЩs throw from his own tent. He paused in the
entryway to shake off the bulk of the mud sucking at his feet. At the first table, men
rose, saluting. He waved them back to their meals. Their fellows at other tables took
their cue from them and, likewise, sat.
The tent smelled more of wet clothes, mud, and un-bathed men than it did of
food. Telling the men apart by the color of their uniforms was impossible, but if one
listened carefully, long enough, then accents and native languages gave them away as
they bellowed and laughed among their comrades. Row upon row of tables with