Free Rose Red by Flora Speer

respect your wish for
privacy about your past, and I will do so. However, I do have one
question, born of a very natural curiosity. Now that your voice is
stronger, and now that I am able to inspect your features without
the barrier of that thick beard, I have the impression that you
were born and raised north of Rome.” Eleonora paused, looking at
Andrea expectantly, but he let her wait for a long moment before he
answered.
    “You have guessed truly, madonna, but I must
beg you not to ask any further questions of me.”
    “Nor will I. As I have already told you,
Andrea, you are welcome to remain with us until you are completely
healthy once more.”
    “Again, madonna, I am eternally in your
debt.”
    “Perhaps you will repay that debt in part by
contributing to our evenings,” Eleonora said. “Our life here is a
quiet one. We read aloud or play games for entertainment.”
    “I play a fair game of chess, madonna,”
Andrea offered.
    “Bartolomeo is doubtless glad to hear that,”
Eleonora said with a glance in the direction of her faithful
friend. “Valeria and I are much too easy for him to best.”
    “I find it difficult to believe that anyone
might win over you, madonna.” Andrea’s voice was soft, holding an
inflection the listening Rosalinda could not understand, save that
it was there and it puzzled her.
    “Do you play the lute or sing?” asked
Bianca.
    “I do, indeed, Madonna Bianca.” Andrea smiled
at her.
    “Yes, I rather thought you would,” Eleonora
said. Her eyes on Andrea were shrewd. “We sometimes make up stories
to entertain each other. Perhaps you will tell us new stories,
about life in the world beyond these mountains.”
    Andrea went very still, looking back at her.
Again he let Eleonora wait before he responded. Watching the two of
them, Rosalinda thought they were playing a game of some kind, the
rules of which were a mystery to her.
    “I am fond of fanciful tales,” Andrea said at
last, “though I think it would be wise of me to listen to the
stories you and your companions have to tell before I venture to
recount one of my own. Thus, I will make no embarrassing
mistakes.”
    “You are a clever man, Signore Andrea.” A
faint smile curved Eleonora’s lips. “Since Bartolomeo and I have
work to do, we will leave you with my daughters to entertain you
for an hour or two. I feel certain they will be delighted to avoid
further lessons for this afternoon.”
    “Your appearance is much improved,” Bianca
said, taking the chair facing Andrea as soon as her mother had
vacated it.
    “I thank you for the compliment, Madonna
Bianca,” Andrea responded with great seriousness.
    “What I meant to say,” Bianca went on,
blushing a little, “is that you looked so much like a bear when you
first appeared on the terrace that you frightened all of us.”
    “I am sorry for that,” Andrea said.
    “Except for Rosalinda, of course. Nothing
ever frightens her,” Bianca said. “Tell us, please, why you were
wearing that dreadful, smelly bearskin.”
    “ For
warmth, Bianca,” Rosalinda said. She was feeling more than a bit
exasperated with her sister. What was Bianca thinking of, asking
silly questions and blushing and fluttering her eyelashes at
Andrea? Since there were only two chairs in the room and Bianca had
taken the second one – which, to be honest, Rosalinda reminded
herself, was the prerogative of an older sister – Rosalinda pulled
up a stool and sat on it. “Without the bearskin for warmth, Andrea
would have frozen to death.”
    “Yes, I would. The skin also served as a
disguise,” Andrea told the sisters. “Which is why I left the bear’s
head attached to the fur.”
    “Why did you need a disguise?” Bianca
asked.
    “I have always heard that fierce bandits live
in the mountains,” Andrea replied. “I reasoned that even the most
desperate outlaws would run away from a bear without looking too
closely at it. I do believe the disguise worked well, for never did
anyone