Page 7 of The Cruelty of Thorns

I frowned. “Now you sound like my mother.”

“A wise woman. I think I’d like to meet her.”

That would be impossible since she’s been dead for six years, I didn’t say. I followed Kristin up the stairs to our room and waited while she changed clothes and headed out to meet her friends. Once she was gone, I pulled out my copy of Madame Bovary and settled back on my bed, intent on getting in a few chapters before realizing I still hadn’t eaten dinner. I grabbed my jacket and tucked the book under my arm, making my way out of the dorm and across the quad toward the cafeteria, figuring I could read while eating.

It was just starting to get dark, and while normally that wouldn’t have bothered me since I felt safe among the ivy-covered brick confines of the compact campus, today I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. I glanced around a couple of times and, not seeing anything out of the ordinary, chalked it up to the leftover weirdness from earlier with Lisa.

CHAPTER 5

INTERLUDE

The trap is set

I AWOKE TO the sound of songbirds. I looked around, and not recognizing my surroundings, had a moment of panic. I was in a wide bed, wrapped in luxurious coverings, in a large, well-appointed room. I closed my eyes and tried to recall just exactly what had happened and how I ended up here.

I remembered accompanying the Contessa to her manor, my seduction at her hands, and then…nothing. How I got to this room in her manor, if indeed that’s where I was, was beyond my recollection. I admit to being disappointed that I wasn’t in the Contessa’s own bed, but maybe it was as I suspected and there was a husband in the mix. If so, how would she explain my presence?

I sat up in bed and took stock of my predicament. I had no idea what time it was or why I had not been sent on my way last night. I glanced down; I was still unclothed, my bare chest crisscrossed with the evidence of the Contessa’s nails. The euphoric satisfaction of last night’s activities quickly gave way to a renewed yearning deep in my bones. I wanted to have her again, and while she wasn’t here now, the fact that she had not put me out into the street must mean she had plans to revisit our liaison.

At least I could hope.

The other reality that quickly made itself known was I was parched, like a man who hadn’t drunk for a year. I swung my legs off the side of the bed and was immediately overcome by a wave of dizziness that nearly knocked me on my back. I closed my eyes and sat still, waiting for the sensation to pass. After several minutes, I felt more like myself and opened my eyes, and that’s when I spotted the water pitcher and glass on the table next to the bed. I poured a glass and downed it in one swallow, then refilled it, drinking this one more slowly.

With my immediate needs satisfied, I set about finding my clothes. A quick perusal of the room revealed no sign of them, though there were underthings folded on a chair in front of the fireplace; a simple linen shurt and a pair of common breeches. No cioppa, hose, or shoes, though I suppose what was there was better than nothing. I quickly dressed then wandered over to the window to get a glimpse of my surroundings.

The window opened onto a walled courtyard that spanned what looked like the length of this wing of the house, with a large ornate fountain at the center. There were several seating areas arranged around the space, with potted, fruit-laden trees dotting the areas between. Halfway down the wall was a tall iron gate, the stone supports of which were wrapped in thick bracts of roses in a shade so dark they appeared almost black. More blooms spilled over the wall at intervals, and I assumed the gate led to an expansive rose garden. To have the land for such a spectacle must mean we were truly well outside the city.

I didn’t see anyone about in the courtyard nor hear any signs of life stirring within the manor; perhaps everyone was downstairs. I didn’t know the protocol in the house and where I fit into it, but I hoped there was someone who could tell me where my clothes were and give me a ride back to the city. Thus resolved, I opened the door and made my way outside my room.

The hallway I found myself in wasn’t the same one I had used to accompany the Contessa to her room last night. This one was darker, more narrow, and not as elaborate, and I wondered how I had gotten here without any knowledge of the trip. Had I been carried, and by whom? Surely not the Contessa, so perhaps someone in the household? And how did she explain that? All questions to hopefully be answered as soon as I saw the Contessa again.

I stood for several seconds considering both directions, then picked one and started walking until I came to a staircase. I was starting to descend when I encountered a young maid carrying a tray. She saw me at the same time and a frown creased her face.

“What are you doing here?” she asked in a flustered voice. “I was just bringing you your meal.”

I moved to take the tray from her hands, but she shrugged me off. “You must go back to your room.”

Whatever she was carrying smelled delicious and I heard my stomach growl in response, but I didn’t need her to serve me and told her so.

She looked around and lowered her voice. “You should have stayed in your room. After you eat, I will bring water and towels for your toiletry. The Contessa likes her…guests to be clean.”

What an odd thing to say, I thought. She indicated for me to go ahead of her, and seeing she wasn’t going to take no for an answer, I turned and headed back in the direction of the room where I had awakened. She followed me inside and set the tray on a low table in front of the fireplace, then busied herself shaking out and straightening the bedclothes and drawing back the curtains to let in the day’s light. I sat down in one of the chairs by the table and looked over the offerings on the tray.

The meal indicated it was late morning, with an ample comestrio spread before me–slices of roast pork, bread and butter, fresh peaches and artichokes in oil, and a decanter of chilled wine. I tore off a piece of bread and buttered it then poured a glass of wine and sat back to watch her. After a moment she turned and regarded me with a worried expression, and I realized she was probably near my own age, with straight brown hair, warm hazel eyes, and a pale complexion. The frock she wore showed her to be on the thin side, and while not especially pretty, there was something pleasant about her demeanor, enough that had I met her on the street, I would not have passed her by.

“What is your name?” I asked.

She seemed flustered by the question. “Rosetta. Is the meal not satisfactory to you?”

“Pretty name.” I grinned at her and was pleased to see it brought a blush to her cheeks. “The meal is fine. I’m just, well, a bit confused. Why am I still here?”

She looked down, avoiding my gaze, and worried at a stray thread from her apron. “You are here at the bequest of my mistress.”

“Yes, so it would seem. But why? I would have thought she’d have sent me on my way by now.”

She looked up and met my eyes, and I was surprised to see something akin to sympathy there. “You should eat; you need your strength. After you finish, I will bring you water to bathe. If the underthings you are wearing are unsatisfactory, I can bring you new ones.”

“I don’t need new underthings. I want my own clothes,” I insisted, but she had already turned away and crossed to the door.

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