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He needed that cold, Lion thought grimly, as he put Tabron to a gallop. He gazed blindly at the sky now turning from pearl to palest pink. Why had he stopped? Unwilling or not, her response had been as strong as his own and he would soon have been able to quench her resistance.

Why had he not done it?

This inner conflict had to end. The emotions Sanchia aroused in him were like nothing he had ever felt before, alternating between lust and a strange, wistful tenderness. It was all madness.

He must think. He must find a way to resolve his dilemma and put an end to this lunacy with Sanchia.

“You no longer have the Wind Dancer?” Borgia asked softly. “I believe I cautioned you about offering it to anyone else, Damari. My father has written expressing interest in it…such interest he informs me of his plan to travel to Cesena to inspect it. I don’t intend to disappoint him.”

“You will not disappoint him, Your Magnificence,” Damari said quickly. “If you’ll but write him to delay his trip for a few short weeks, I’m sure we will be able to retrieve the Wind Dancer.”

“We?” Borgia smiled. “You expect my help? If my help is given, then no further payment is required. Is that what you wish?”

Damari felt the frustration and rage rising in him and sought desperately to control his temper.

“Andreas managed to get the statue back through no fault of my own. My information is that it has been returned to Mandara. My condotti is small and the city well guarded. If you could just let me have the service of the forces you’ve quartered in Cesena, I could—”

“My God, are you mad? I’m surrounded by rebellion and discord here in the Romagna.

You wish me to lend you an army when it might mean putting down an insurrection here when you deign to return it?

” Borgia shook his head. “You offered me a bargain and I hold you to the terms of it. You supply the Wind Dancer and my father supplies a dukedom.”

Damari’s eyes widened in excitement. “The holy father agreed to my terms?”

“I told you he had expressed interest.” Borgia smiled. “But if you cannot furnish me with the Wind Dancer, perhaps I’ll go after it myself. After the Romagna is completely secure, I could launch an attack on Mandara.”

“No!” Damari said sharply. “The statue is mine.”

“Then bring it to me.”

“I must have time to make plans.”

“I’ll write my father that there’s been a slight delay,” Borgia told him. “Only a slight delay. In five weeks’ time I go to Rome with either the Wind Dancer in my hands or you by my side to explain to him why I don’t have it in my possession. Tell me, Damari, have you ever been to Rome?”

Damari shook his head. “I have not had that pleasure.”

“A magnificent city with a lovely river winding through it. Perhaps you’ve heard that my own dear brother was found floating in the river Tiber with many knife wounds in his body.

No one has ever determined who tossed him into the water since little attention is paid to such an act.

So common an occurrence in Rome.” He paused. “Do I make myself clear?”

“You always make yourself clear, my lord.”

Borgia turned away contemptuously. “Then you may go, Damari.”

He was being dismissed like the lowliest lackey.

Damari smothered the venom rising within him and forced himself to bow courteously.

“Be assured I’ll find a way of obtaining the Wind Dancer with no trouble or expense to you.

My apologies for suggesting you aid me, my lord duke.

I was only concerned for the disappointment of His Holiness. ”

“You’ll gain my forgiveness when I have the Wind Dancer. I expect you here in five weeks’ time.”

“I’ll be here.” Damari, bowing obsequiously, backed from the room.

He abruptly straightened after he had closed the door, standing quite still while he fought the bitterness boiling through him. Only a short time ago it had been he who had controlled both Borgia and the pope. Now he was no longer the duke’s equal but subservient once more.

And he had come so close!

No matter. He would regain his power and status as soon as he reclaimed the Wind Dancer. There would be no more bowing and scraping once he had what Borgia wanted.

But how to get it?

Bribery had succeeded once, but it was doubtful that Andreas would allow even the most trusted servant close enough to steal the statue again.

Damari would be foolish to launch his small condotti against Mandara in the vain hope that luck would carry the day.

Andreas was too able a commander and Mandara too strong a fortress to fall without overwhelming numbers launched against it in the field.

Not bribery. Not force. The elimination of both weapons meant he would have to wait and study the situation to find a way to overcome the disadvantages he was facing.

In the meantime, a spy could be insinuated into the town, if not into the castle itself, and surely he would be able to think of something before the five weeks Borgia had given him expired.

He had not raised himself to his present status by lacking in imagination.

Damari descended the stone steps to the courtyard where a lackey was holding the reins of his horse.

Swinging up into the saddle he noted the sky was leaden, clouds roiling, scudding with the wind preceding a storm.

He was going to get a wetting before he reached shelter but he refused to go back to Borgia and beg to stay.

He lifted his head and smiled as a gust of moist wind touched his cheeks. Besides, he would not mind riding through the rain. The fact that the storm was heading north was a good portent. Mandara lay due north, safe and snug and arrogant in its small world.

And a storm was coming to Mandara also, as soon as he thought of a way to send it thundering over Lion Andreas and his bitch of a mother.

And the little slave, Sanchia.

He’d been startled when Andreas had launched an attack on Solinari to get her back. Clearly she was important to his foe.

Yes, he’d have to be sure his plans for the future held a prominent place for the slave girl.