Page 38

C al drew himself up into his most haughty, princely posture. “If I seek insults, I don’t need to converse with you two. I could sit with my men.”

Princess Isabella giggled.

Slightly mollified, I laughed out loud. “Your men’s complaints will have diminished significantly due to their full bellies.”

“That brings us to my second issue. You replaced my cook with the Montagues’ discarded cook? Who is lame and skinny?” For a man who enjoyed a good meal, thanks to me, Cal behaved like an ungrateful churl.

Mollified vanished in a flash of rage and indignation. “She is not lame! She has been early stricken by a challenge that faces the elderly.”

“She’s skinny,” he said. “I want a cook who’ll sample the food, not leave for me to discover it’s been poisoned.”

I wound up for a snap-his-head-off rebuff, such as I’d given Marcellus.

“Mark my words, with her expertise, she’ll make your kitchens the envy of Verona.

Ladies will try to bribe her to work for them, but she works only for the Montagues.

Only for us!” I pointed my thumb at my chest. “For that you can be thankful. And—”

“Va bene,” he said.

I almost staggered when he knocked the prop of indignation out from under me. “What?”

“If you’re going to make such a sweeping change in the household, I want to know you’re passionate about it. The soup is good, too. Thank you.”

Rather than pick up the iron pot and swing it at his head, I took my basket, swirled around, and hurried to Nonna Ursula’s side.

As I did, I heard Princess Isabella chide, “Cal, the prince of Verona should never be so ungracious. Rosie has saved us from starvation, and our new cook has already transformed our kitchen into a place of glorious appetite.”

I didn’t bother to hide my grin. The child had found her woman’s voice.

I could see that the onset of night made Nonna sink more heavily toward the moment when life must end, and hurriedly I plucked up the mint and crushed it under her nose.

Speaking loudly and slowly, I said, “Smell that, Nonna Ursula. Of what does that remind you? For me, it’s hot summers in the garden, the sun on my hair, picking mint to be crushed with wild strawberries. And this.”

She didn’t stir. Nothing on her face changed.

I replaced the mint with crushed oregano. “Imagine this stuffed beneath the skin of a roast goose, flavoring the drippings.”

“Rosie . . .” Cal put a gentle hand on my shoulder. “She can’t hear you. Even when she was alive, she couldn’t hear well, and now—”

I shook him off. “Lemon balm, so bright and lively brewed in a tea with chamomile!” For a moment, I thought I saw a flicker of life cross her face. But before I was sure, it had disappeared and she was as she’d been before. Probably my own desperate desire made me see things that weren’t there.

I waved a dried frond of lavender under her nose.

Princess Isabella had joined us. “She hates lavender. Violently. She says it smells like mildew and it makes her sneeze.”

“Really?” Hm. In my mind, I could see Nonna Ursula rousing to bat it out of my hand.

She didn’t, and I heard Cal and Princess Isabella sigh in disappointment. They, too, had begun to cherish a gleam of hope that this would bring her back to us.

When I crushed the garlic chives, we all blinked at the pungent odor, but nothing moved on Nonna Ursula’s face.

Finally I indicated the pink flowers to Cal.

“These hold sentiment for her. Hold them under her nose and talk to her in your man-voice. Remind her of her past when youth and love were sweet, and her lord husband brought her flowers like this to warm her heart.”

Cal looked at the flowers, then looked at me.

In his gaze, I saw something deep and dark, brooding and sure.

Gathering the blossoms, he cupped them in his palms and leaned close to Nonna Ursula’s ear; with the scent wafting over us all, he spoke of his grandfather, how much he’d adored his wife and family, his strength in his role as podestà, and how before his death, he taught his son and grandson about ruling justly.

Princess Isabella sniffled and rubbed her nose on her sleeve.

The first I knew of Elder’s presence was a manly sob and his deep voice saying, “God bless the boy, I’m glad he remembers my father so fondly.”

Cal finished by saying, “Nonna, I’m going to put these flowers in a bowl by your bedside where all night you can smell them, and when the morning comes and the sun rises, you’ll rise, too. You’ll look on the world made new, and we’ll be glad of your return.”

I teared up, too, and hugged Princess Isabella, and Cal hugged us both together, and if Elder had had breath, he would have honked his nose like one of Hannibal’s elephants.

From the corridor, we heard a clatter of blades and the thump of many booted feet.

In a brotherly gesture, Cal kissed first Princess Isabella, then me, on the forehead. “I’m off! Say a prayer for our victorious delivery of Verona from this turbulence. Watch over Nonna Ursula.” He fixed his stern gaze on me. “For this night at least, stay safe within the palace.”

“Of course.” Although I wished mightily to go home to see my family and sleep in my own bed.

Reaching into his black shirt, from the place over his heart, he brought forth a slightly crushed, dark red rose.

He pressed his lips to the opening bud, and taking my hand, he placed it in my fingers and lifted it to my lips.

“Drink in the scent. It is you. Watch the blossom unfold. It is my heart triumphant.” He spoke in a quiet voice meant to reach only him and me.

He was loud, though, for even Tommaso sighed at the romance.

“ Rosa centifolia, the rose of many petals, came from the Far East, from Cathay, and grows in dirt laced with well-rotted manure. The intoxicating fragrance and glorious color attracts bees and butterflies, while the thorns keep browsing animals away.” He clutched the stem into my hands in reassurance.

“I removed all thorns from this rose for you.”

“Thanks.” Well-rotted manure?

In his deep, soft, passionate tone, Cal continued.

“God in His power created the thorns to protect the rose’s beauty, and perhaps in the far-distant reaches of the desert and dunes, to catch sand that blows in the wind and thus bring shelter to its roots.

Birds feast on the fruit of the rose, and when at long last I’ve made you my wife, I’ll brew you a posset of flavorful rose hips, a drink so healthful and rich your hair will gleam, your fingernails will grow strong, and you’ll stalk like a wild beast across the world of men. ”

“Our cats are like that when we feed them venison liver.” I winced at my own ineptitude.

He smiled, apparently undeterred. “All will fear you, and you’ll easily give birth to our healthy sons and daughters.”

Just like our cats produce too many kittens. But no. What could a woman say to such a declaration of, um, horticulture? “As they fear you tonight, Prince Escalus, my betrothed, as you plunge into battle to save our fair Verona.” That sounded so silly I felt as if I had fumbled the ball.

Cal crushed me to him in a swift embrace, pressed his cheek against my forehead, then departed, leaving me holding a battered rose and feeling quizzically unbalanced.

Princess Isabella lamented. “For a moment there, he was doing so well.”