He spent his days going over the logs at the warehouse, arranging business transactions on behalf of his father, and meeting any ships that might arrive on route to or from the south of France. But no word came from Arles and neither did Christina.
The ground floor of the inn was cut deep into the natural limestone of the hillside surrounding the harbor, walled with more stone and neatly whitewashed overall, though the pristine coating, annually renewed, was quickly stained with the smoke from the fireplaces, lanterns and candles. One side of the space had become a long narrow dining room providing meals and convivial drinking company for guests—sailors and residents alike. For centuries, manmade caverns like this one had been used as storehouses for those needing immediate access to the harbor. Over the centuries, some had been adapted by the various businesses that traded along the waterfront.
As the sun slipped behind the hill on the other side of the harbor, the soft glow of lanterns began to flicker in the windows along the water. It was late, a quiet evening with few customers left in the dimly lit dining room. As usual, Richard was working, going over some bills of lading.
He was distracted momentarily by the pretty serving maid as she stopped to light the lantern on the long plank table next to the window where he sat. She pushed it closer to him so he might have more light for his paperwork, then moved on to the next table, the next candle. When she passed his table again, he caught the scent of bergamot. Curious, he watched as she moved around the room, realizing for the first time that from a distance she looked a little like Christina.
Surely, he’d seen her before and he was surprised he hadn’t noticed the resemblance. Her hair under the kerchief she wore was much curlier, but the color in the soft light seemed close to Christina’s rich brown. She was older, certainly, perhaps even a few years older than he was, though it was difficult to judge—so many of the Corsicans led hard lives. A frown crossed his face as he watched her. If Christina didn’t arrive soon, he strongly suspected that half the female population of Bonifacio would begin to resemble her. Reluctantly, he went back to his papers.
A man dressed like a sailor came through the doorway, made a quiet inquiry of the proprietor, then found his way to where Richard was sitting.
“Signore?”
The man was a stranger, but he was holding a letter addressed to Richard. The handwriting was Robert’s.
“
Grazie,
” Richard said, taking the letter and handing the man a coin from the small pile on the table in front of him.
The man bowed respectfully and disappeared.
Richard turned the letter over in his hand, broke the seal and unfolded the stiff paper.
3 Juillet, 1753
Beloved Brother,
I hope this finds you well and comfortable in your new circumstances. I’m afraid that I, by necessity, have become the bearer of bad news or at least of news
I know you will find hard to understand—
Christina and Guy were married Saturday last.
I performed the ceremony myself.
Richard, I know this must come as a terrible shock to you, but she hasn’t been herself since Marco died.
We all felt it would be for the best and Christina did not seem to be opposed.
I know you love her, Richard, so I only ask that you join me in praying for her future happiness.
Yours in Christ,
Robert
Richard reread the words, and stood up, staring blankly out the window at the last shimmer of light on the water. He felt as though he’d been hit hard in the stomach. The sting of tears made him blink as he fought off the horrid feeling of emptiness that suddenly engulfed him. His mind was filled with thoughts of Christina—memories of her singing, laughing, the bright playful child he’d always loved. And suddenly, the face he remembered was Christina the woman, on their last night together.
How on earth had this happened?
The serving maid was curious about the handsome young man who’d taken up residence at the inn. Though he’d been there almost two weeks, she’d been unable to attract his attention. Everything about him indicated he was a gentleman, yet he was dressed like a common sailor. To be sure, the linen of his shirt was finer than most, perhaps the fabric in his breeches showed little sign of wear, and his tall, black boots were always well polished. But his skin was tanned, and she could sometimes catch a glimpse of a gold chain at his neck. All in all, he was both attractive and mysterious enough to spark her curiosity. And while he had been unfailingly polite to her, it was obvious from the day he arrived that he had other things on his mind, other things that concerned him deeply.
That evening she was watching him as he read the letter. She saw him grow pale, his jaw tightening as he quickly scanned the paper. Then she saw the tears.
She slipped into the kitchen and pulled down a clean apron, quickly tying it around her waist. She adjusted her chemise, loosening the tie just a bit so that the neckline dipped a little lower. Then she tightened her bodice, accentuating her full breasts. She picked up a tray of mugs and returned to the mysterious gentleman’s table. He was still standing at the window, seemingly staring out at nothing. She set down her tray, stepped closer to him and laid her hand on his arm.
“
Signore,
is there something I can do?” She said it flirtatiously, familiar with the simplest way to turn a man’s mind from distressing thoughts.
Her gentle touch and her husky voice caught Richard’s attention and he looked down at her and smiled sadly. He studied her face a moment, acutely aware of what she was offering. He touched her cheek. She did look like Christina—a little. He hesitated a moment more, then he kissed her.
Neither of them spoke as they climbed the two flights of narrow stairs to Richard’s room. When she immediately made to light the other candles in the shuttered room, he laid a restraining hand on her arm. He set her candle on the table beside the bed. Taking her hand he looked at her for a moment and then leaned over and blew out the flame. She understood. Many men preferred she become someone else for a time.
She waited, while he undressed in the dark. Then he came back to her and began to unlace her bodice. Muffled sounds drifted up from the kitchen below but Richard was silent. She found herself strangely excited by the tremendous strength she sensed beneath his gentleness. She closed her eyes and willingly gave herself up to the fantasy that she was the one that the handsome young stranger wanted.
He only called her Chrissa once that night, but she felt his pain as he tried time and time again to do everything he could to please the woman he loved. Finally, as he lay with his head on her breast, she felt his tears and her heart went out to him. There was nothing she could do but stroke his hair until at last he slept.
At four-thirty in the morning, Richard slipped out of bed and dressed quietly. He paused to look down at the soundly sleeping woman. She looked younger, softer somehow, in the dim light. He sighed as he left a gold coin on the pillow beside her and went out.
He walked along the waterfront, busy at that hour as the last of the fishing boats prepared to go out for the day’s catch, and finally turned up the steep cobbled street that led to the
Haute Ville
.
The twelfth century fortress of the Citadel loomed dark and forbidding against the hint of dawn that was beginning to turn the eastern sky the palest shade of pink. But Richard walked on. The cool morning air helped clear his head. Christina and Guy were married. He couldn’t understand it. Claude’s words echoed in his mind, and he reminded himself how young she was and that she was probably incapable of making the decision to follow him. Yet it was no child he’d made love to that night in the barn.
Beyond the pain and the grief, he was bewildered by the strange turn of events. He’d been so sure of her love for so many years that he’d never once entertained any thoughts of a future that didn’t include her. His beloved Christina had probably made what seemed to her a logical choice, and yet he felt very uneasy about it. For one thing, he was unsure of Guy.
Why did Guy suddenly decide he wanted Christina?
There was something going on that Richard simply couldn’t fathom and it worried him.
He took a deep breath, inhaling the soft scent of the
macchia
that covered the hills surrounding the harbor. It was the signature scent of the island and it always recalled his childhood—happy times spent with friends and family in that idyllic setting. He knew there was now no choice but to turn his thoughts from what he’d lost and make some sort of plans for the future—a future without the woman he loved.
At the top of the steep street, in the saddle at the narrowest point of the ridge on that side of the peninsula, Richard crossed the path and stopped at the low limestone wall to gaze down on the sea more than a hundred feet below. The gulls were beginning to make lazy circles in the early light above the limestone columns rising a short distance from shore. Instead of turning right toward the ancient citadel and the
Haute Ville
, he turned abruptly to the left where the narrow cobbled track ran north along the cliff. He followed the path up the hill and reached the top just as the sun emerged from the sea.
Richard’s grandfather had built the cottage in the style of the countryside, of sturdy limestone that glowed a warm shade of pink in the rosy morning light. The building stood alone on the ridge of the hill, walled all around with more limestone laid shoulder high. He stopped beside the formidable gate posts and looked down at the harbor below, his eyes following the small boats of the fishermen as the last of them made their way out the long narrow entrance to the harbor.
He took the key from the pouch at his waist, and slipped it into the heavy lock. In spite of the rusted exterior, the mechanism was well oiled and it turned smoothly. He swung the wooden gate open, the aged hinges moving soundlessly. He crossed the small courtyard, fit the smaller key into the door and went in.
The house was maintained, aired and cleaned monthly, though neither Richard nor any of the rest of the family had used it in more than eight years. He had fond memories of time spent there as a child, and as he walked slowly from room to room glancing at the covered furniture, he made a decision. He would reopen the cottage.
He went into his old bedroom and threw open the window and shutters to the sun and the fresh sea air. He stood there a moment, looking out across the strait to the misty outline of the northern coast of Sardinia.
Richard knew that the trouble with Marco’s murder might well prevent him from ever going home again, but he could still sail on any of his father’s ships that weren’t bound for Arles. He thought it might be good to be at sea again, knowing the hard work aboard ship would help keep his mind off his loss. Returning from the ships to the cottage would give him a sense of permanence, a home away from home.
The decision made, Richard closed up the house and headed back down to the harbor.
He stopped for breakfast at one of the other taverns on the wharf, then returned to the
Taverna Corso
. The serving maid was clearing the tables from the morning meal. When she saw him, she smiled.
“Could I speak to you, upstairs?” he asked quietly.
“I’ll be along in a minute,” she replied, picking up a tray of dishes and carrying them toward the kitchen.
What does he want? Surely I’ve done nothing wrong, yet he left early without so much as a word.
She was apprehensive, though she knew there was no reason for it.
When Richard returned to his room the shutters were open, filling the small space with light dancing off the water below. There, on the pillow of the neatly made bed was the gold coin. He picked it up, frowning as he closed his fingers around the worn metal.
There was a soft knock at the door.
“Come in and close the door, please.”
She stood facing him, hoping he didn’t find the sight of her by daylight disappointing in some way.
“It seems that I owe you an apology,” he said holding out the coin.
“No,
Signore,
” she said, blushing prettily.
“I didn’t want you to misunderstand what happened last night.”
“As I recall, it was my doing,” she said, refusing to meet his eyes.
This was not the response he expected. “Perhaps we’re both responsible then, but it would please me if you would take this as an offer of my appreciation.” He took her hand, pressing the coin into it.
She hesitated, looking at Richard and then at the coin. She felt her cheeks flush again as she tried to think of something other than his grey eyes. She found herself wishing he would take her in his arms again and hold her as he had the night before, but she knew that was foolish. A gentleman like this one had only one use for a woman like her. Her fingers closed around the coin. She knew he would feel better for having paid her and she needed the money.
“
Grazie,
Signore
,
” she said softly.
“I must apologize, but I don’t know your name.”
“Arabella, but I’m called Bella.” She wasn’t sure why she felt so awkward with him. There had been so many others and this one, for all his manners and gentleness was not much different. And yet she knew he was.
“It’s a lovely name, Bella.” It was difficult to talk to her when she refused to look at him. He turned and looked out the window at the busy harbor. He was suddenly quite anxious to settle the matter and sail.
“I have a cottage here in Bonifacio, and I was thinking of using it. Is there any chance that you might be interested in becoming my housekeeper?” He turned back to her, curious to see her reaction.
Arabella looked up, surprised. A generous offer to be sure, but he wasn’t smiling. His eyes were unreadable and for a moment she was unsure. She longed to get away from the inn and the transients she was forced to spend her time with, but until that moment no suitable options had ever presented themselves. She had no doubt at all that this man would prove a much kinder master than the innkeeper.