"Yes mother, I packed my writing desk. I refuse to leave it here," Sofia protested as she folded her favorite silk shirt in her lap then leaned over to place it in her large trunk. 

"But it shall only take up room! But, if you think you shall use it a lot," her mother, the duchess Talia sighed. The duchess had been a lovely woman in her youth, with waist-length light brown hair, emerald green eyes and skin as fair as porcelain. Even old age couldn’t take away the light behind her eyes even as it had sagged her skin and dulled the smooth look of her face and grayed her hair. She was a caring woman but even her pleadings hadn’t changed her husband’s mind, nor the amount of gold in the duke’s coffers. Now she diligently helped her daughter to pack for the ever looming day. Cira swallowed on a dry throat as she realized she had four days left- after the sunset of this one- of her freedom. It chilled her, as she blankly stared out the large window into the garden. Did the convent have a garden? Would the nuns allow her to stroll around the blooms, or would they lock her up in her tiny cell until she became as dedicated in her mind as they were? Images of dark hallways and cold stone came to her mind as not even the glimpse of a bird flying across her window could lighten her mood. 

"Cira? Cira, did you hear me child?"

Cira blinked a few times, releasing the prison images and replied, "Yes, mother?" She kept her gaze on the garden.

"Where did you put that silver-backed brush of yours? The one my sister gave you? The one with the black bristles?" the duchess asked. 

"In the top drawer of my bureau," Cira replied as she looked back down to the red shirt in her hands. Silver and black made her think of a mask, the Jester’s mask. She inadvertently smiled as thoughts of her Jester came to mind. His dark eyes, his intelligent words, his cheery humor, his tall body; she would miss him. She closed her eyes as she remembered the way his lips felt on the back of her wrists and the warmth that spread through all of her as he looked back up at her. 

"Cira!" 

As if she was a child just caught with a pilfered hot cross bun, Cira gave a little jump and quickly spun around to look at her mother.

"Yes?" she asked, forcing a smile on her lips. Her mother gave her a quizzical look as she set down the brush. 

"That is the third time I called your name." She paused. "Are you ill?" she asked as she walked towards her youngest daughter. Cira mutely shook her head. "Your cheeks are flushed." Cira only shrugged as worries pounded at her.

She can’t suspect anything! Does she? Can she see my thoughts of him? She knows! That look in her eyes! Oh Lord I’m in trouble! The duchess’ emerald eyes traveled to her own as Cira tried to portray herself as calm, that nothing was out of the ordinary. 

"Your forehead ‘tis not warm. Perhaps a walk in the gardens is in order to cool yourself." 

A wave of relief flowed over her as she sighed and gave a small bob of her head. "You are correct Mother. I shall return in a few moments." 

"Good, good. Take this with you. Sofia brought this in." Cira looked down at the rose colored letter in her mother's hands in silence. She took it and could not stop the smile from spreading on her lips. 

There was a slight breeze that brushed a loose lock of her hair across her right cheek. She ignored it as she could only pay attention to the elegant black writing she held in her hands.

My Lady,

You make your humble Jester smile. With such a talent for story-telling perhaps you will outdo your Jester’s ability. Where will that leave me? On the streets perhaps, begging for a lady’s favor to take pity on a poor Jester. Would you stop, my Lady? Would you look past my mask to see the man beneath? 

Cira didn’t know it but she was slightly nodding her head. Her heart began to beat faster as she read the last line. She suddenly had the desire to see his face without the hindrance of the jester’s mask. Her imagination wildly played with her as she eagerly read on.

Your gift was more than worthy. It made my simple star dull in its brilliance. 

I have a eager wish. I hope my heart does not offend as I must let it speak freely. I would like to see you again. 

Cira thought that the whole world could hear her heart because it beat so loudly in her chest. 

You told me, my Lady, that you were staying at the Duke’s castle for this week. ‘Tis not far for me. I want to meet you tomorrow, under the moon’s light again. I shall be busy all day or else I would gladly meet you in the daylight, as ‘tis more proper. Write back to me, my fastest horse and messenger are still in the Duke’s stables, waiting for your word. 

My Lady, I would understand if you find your poor Jester brazen, but the image of your eyes and your laugh haunts me like a shade. If I do not receive word from you, I will understand. I ask for too much, but I would be a true jester if I did not ask.

Your Jester

Cira’s head spun as she clutched the letter to her. "I want to see him again," she muttered aloud and realized it was the truth. She shook her head though at the thought of him coming to her father’s court. She froze as she thought of the horrible consequences. "My father would disown me if a man came asking for me. I might be sent to a smaller convent, in the mountains without some of today's modern amenities like oil lamps or chamber pots! And my Jester would be disgraced knowing he had come to call on a woman like me." A word came to her mind. Like poison she spat it out. "A spinster like me." She was about to crumble the letter in her hands realizing she should end this relationship now, but she could not bring herself to do it. A plan formed in her mind and her spirits soared once again. 

Jester,

There is little possibility for you coming to the Duke’s court. I would not want to impose on you. There is a smaller summer villa, not far to the north. Do you know it Jester? It rests on the river. I should like to meet you there tomorrow, as the sun sinks into the horizon. I will be in the small garden. Do you like flowers, my Jester? They start out from tiny buds then bloom into full glory. But the bloom is the shortest part of the flower’s life. If you wait too long, the flower will wilt.

Your Lady

Cira quickly sealed the letter and handed it to Sofia. Her serving maid dashed to the stables to search out the messenger. Cira was left alone to think of tomorrow and how she would persuade her father to let her visit their summer villa.

"This is a strange wish, my daughter." Cira tried not to seem to eager, her father was well known for sensing a lie and ferreting out the truth. She kept her gaze on him, and slightly tilted her head, as if this was not the most important thing to her. Her father was an imposing man. Always dressed in his robes of state, the dark blue crushed velvet still cut a dashing figure on the duke, even with a seemingly ever-expanding belly and a sagging double chin hidden underneath a white triangle beard. Gold tassels adorned the sleeves, and the hems. Gold was his color. The gold buttons respectfully stood in line on his front, and a gold embroidered sash made sure the fabric stayed close to his body. She had never understood why he would wear gold when he had so little in his coffers. Upon first hearing of her fate she had cruelly thought that he spent her dowry on his gold adorned outfits. Now, even though she knew it was a lie, she couldn’t stop holding a tiny grudge against her stately father.

"I know Father, but I should like to see it before I go. Tomorrow is supposed to be such a grand day," she protested. She did not whine or angrily protest; that wasn’t her place. She had to play the loving daughter to get what she wanted.

He rested his head in his right hand as he sat at his desk, scrolls in front of him. "Daughter, I have a hunt tomorrow. I or your mother could not attend."

"All I ask is for Sofia, my hand-maid, and as many soldiers as you can spare for my protection." Really she wanted no one with her, but she knew that would raise quite a few suspicions. "’Tis not too far away so two or three would do nicely."

Her father nodded his head as he turned his head to look at her. "Only three guards to safe-keep my precious youngest daughter? I would order my entire army to protect you. Alas, I need them for the hunt and guarding this castle. I will order ten to accompany you. There my wonderful daughter, you have your wish. When do you want to leave?"

She bowed her head to him in thanks. "In the morn, Father."

"Oh I do love this place! Pity we shan’t be returning ever again," Sofia moaned as they entered the villa through the stable’s entrance. Cira had too many things on her mind to look at the place she called home a part of the year. Her slippers didn’t make a sound on the huge rug that covered the main hallway. All of the halls led to the main hallway and the front doors. It was made like that so people would have to see one another and anyone who came in through the doors. She found it silly now. She made her way to her room, Sofia close on her heels.

"Cira, my Lady! Why are you rushing? We have all day. It is just barely noon time." Cira opened the door to her small private chambers and smiled when she saw everything was just as she had last left it. The glass doors that led to the gardens had been cleaned, allowing her a perfect view. She looked to her right and saw her small dressing table, the rows of tiny jars and pots of paint and perfume still neatly in place. The mirror had been cleaned since last time, she thanked whoever had done the task. 

"Marvelous," she whispered. 

"Cira, I don’t see why you’re hurrying!" Cira turned and looked at her handmaid.

"How long do you think it will be before they bring my things in here?" she quickly asked. Sofia seemed taken back as one of her light eyebrows raised in a quizzical look.

"Um, I believe before the hour’s up, my Lady," she replied. Cira winced as she calculated all the time she had left. 

"It will be cutting it close," she muttered as she tried to think of some way which would expedite everything she had to do. 

"What? What's happening Cira? You never told me why we came here? I had always believed you preferred the castle more than the villa." Sofia’s voice turned demanding. 

Cira gave a little laugh as she turned around and faced her petite handmaiden and friend. "I could never trick you, could I?" She became eager as deep down she wanted Sofia to share her happiness. Her heart began to flutter as she realized she could tell Sofia and let the pressure leave her. She widely smiled as she reached for and took Sofia’s hands. "I’m meeting a man tonight." Sofia’s skin went white as ivory. Her eyes became wide and she sputtered,

"My Lady! A man! Do you realize what will happen? Once your father finds out . . ." Her entire expression changed. "You’re destined for the nunnery! It is impossible for a nun to be courted by a man!" She rolled her green eyes. "Lord help me." She looked back to Cira. Her expression changed again as her voice lowered. "Where did you meet him? Who is he?" 

Cira smiled, realizing her friend wouldn't tell her secret. "I met him at the masquerade a few nights ago. Those letters, the messenger yesterday, those were his." Sofia just gasped. 

"I've been helping you?!" she practically screamed. Cira quickly took her right hand and placed it over Sofia’s mouth. 

"If you shout it much louder one of the soldiers will hear and we’ll both be in trouble!" Sofia mutely nodded her head. "Yes, you’ve been helping me. I’m sorry to have placed you in that position, but I couldn’t do it or else I would have been found out. Who knows what Father would do if he learned of my letters." She removed her hand and took up Sofia’s again. She removed her hand from Sofia’s mouth and placed it upon her friend’s cheek. Looking into her eyes, Cira pleaded, "I really want this. It will probably lead to nothing, but something excites me about him."

"Who is he?" Sofia worriedly asked again. 

"This may sound silly, but I don’t know," Cira replied with a laugh. She would have sworn that Sofia was going to faint. The older woman rolled her head and muttered prayers under her breath. 

"Oh Lord!" she finally exclaimed. She looked back to her. "Cira! He could be a thief or murderer for all you know!"

"No, he’s not! He wouldn’t have been able to get in if he wasn’t noble. The way he danced, the things we discussed, he’s too learned to be anything but noble. Please, Sofia you have to help me again."

Sofia looked away and Cira was afraid her handmaid wouldn't help her. She was going to plead again when Sofia nodded her head and turned back to her. The handmaid's eyes were cheerful and a smirk was on her lips.

"I’ll help you."

Cira patted the curl resting on the right side of her face. "You blasted thing. You better stay still," she threatened the tendril. She looked at herself in the mirror. She didn’t have the same blazing beauty Melita did, but she was not homely. Her eyes were outlined to make her eyes appear larger and a faint pink colored paint stained her lips. Her dress was not anything special; she couldn’t slip a fancy dress out of the palace without a good explanation. It was light blue and was a compliment to her fair skin. Her only piece of jewelry was the thin line of pearls that hung around her neck. She looked out the glass doors and her heart became excited. The sky was turning pink as the sun lowered to the horizon. Cira quickly looked at her appearance in her mirror again. "I look pretty enough . . ." She didn’t dare finish her thought. She pinched her cheeks to make them rosy then rose to her feet.

"Sofia, Sofia!" she called. Her handmaid quickly came into the room. She stopped in the doorway and smiled.

"You look lovely my Lady," she said. Cira smiled her thanks.

"Do you have everything prepared? The note in the stables? The guards away from the garden?" she hurriedly asked. Sofia nodded. 

"Everything my Lady." She rubbed her hands in the folds of her skirts as she briefly looked down. "What if he is discovered?"

Cira reached out and placed a hand on her handmaid's shoulder. "He won’t be."

Cira impatiently waited. She sat down on one of the benches, but soon she had to move and walk around. She wrung her hands together as the sun disappeared in the west, behind the high stone wall that surrounded the villa. Fears tormented her, once almost bringing tears to her eyes. The only thing that stopped her was the thought of her eye paint smearing into tiny dark rivulets which would run down her face. At first her resolve was strong. She had no doubt that he would come. But as the darkness took over the sky, her resolve weakened. 

"He has probably tricked me. This is some jest for him; to make the Duke’s plain, youngest daughter even think someone would favor her is a laugh." She hugged her arms to her body as she walked, her eyes downcast. "Nobles already tell stories of me behind my back; this will just be another one." She took a deep breath as she felt the beginnings of a sob rack her lungs. "No, please Lord, not this time." Only the sounds of the night: an owl hooting, a few crickets playing their fiddles- answered her. "Lord, not this time," she softly repeated. A few more moments passed. She looked up to the sky. The first star of the night was visible. She became hollow on the inside. She could feel pressure behind her eyes that would soon lead to tears. She turned around and started to head back to her room. 

"It’s too late." 

"My Lady!" She picked up her head, her spirits rising as she saw him. He wore a purple jacket with two silver buttons over a white shirt. He wore brown breeches and black ankle boots. His dark olive skin slightly shone in the moonlight as he seemed out of breath. His short black hair was parted down the middle and ended up in small curls around his ears. They had been swept under his hat last time. Seeing his whole face took her breath away. He was handsome; there was no one who would argue that point. He smiled at her as he walked towards her. He stopped when he was less than a pace away. 

"I apologize for my tardiness." He reached out and took her right hand. She deeply blushed when he raised it to his lips and kissed her palm. His dark eyes never left hers. Her heart was racing. "I could not leave until late. Can you forgive your Jester, my Lady?"

She mutely nodded her head. "Of course." She paused. "But if it happens again, the Lord only knows if I’ll be this patient twice in my life." He laughed at her jest. She liked the sound of his laugh.

He released her hand and offered his arm. "Shall we walk, my Lady?" he asked. She gladly took his arm, just to touch him and to be near him. He led her on the path through the garden.

"Beautiful blooms," he commented. She watched him- she couldn’t tear her gaze away from his face- as he looked back to her. "If I remember correctly, my Lady commented on flowers in one of her kind letters. Do they hold a special interest to you?"

She nodded her head. "I love flowers. I've had a small part of my father’s gardens to myself, where I take care of the plants instead of the gardener."

"So that is why you wished to meet in a garden. A lovely setting, my Lady." He parted his lips for a moment. "Our masks are put away for another time. Perhaps we could put away these false names." She gave a little laugh.

"But I enjoy being called ‘Lady’," Cira teased. She became cold when she saw his smile dampen and sadness in his eyes. 

"If you do not wish to become that personal with me, I understand," he humbly said. 

She shook her head. "No! I misspoke! That is not what I meant at all!" She blushed when she heard her voice. She had said it too quickly for her tastes. She glanced down at her feet for a moment, trying to regain her composure, then looked back to him. "My name is Cira." 

He smiled again and she warmed. "I have never met a Cira before. It is a unique name that dances off my tongue. I am Lorenzo."

She said it silently to herself. She now thought it the most wonderful name in the entire world. 

"So now that we have spoken our names, what else shall we talk about?" she asked. His eyes were looking at the plants that they passed. "We talked about almost everything the last time we met."

"Ah Cira, there’s an entire world out there. There are so many things we can discuss that it simply boggles the mind. Have you even been out of Lombardy?" 

She shook her head. "I am afraid not. I have stayed within ten leagues of my father’s estate throughout my life. My relatives all live in this region." She looked away from him and to the path in front of them. Gray flat stones made up the pathway. They had been the first things to be put down in the garden. The light from the villa reached out its long arms, bathing the path in a soft glow and their way as they slowly strolled.

"What about going to balls in Milano or Roma? Or visiting a suitor in his palace?" She couldn’t stop herself from blushing. 

"I've never been allowed to Milano or Roma. My father likes to keep his daughters near home." She looked up to see he was looking at her again.

"And the suitors?" 

She shook her head. "I have never had a suitor." He stopped walking, forcing her to stop besides him. She couldn’t help but blush as he looked at her. She shyly turned away her head.

"How can that be?" 

She gave a small laugh. "Only pretty or rich women have suitors. I am neither pretty nor rich." It hurt her to say it, but it was the truth. She felt open to say anything she wanted to him, her Jester, Lorenzo. She was surprised to feel his soft hand under her chin. He cupped her tiny chin and slowly turned her head so that she looked back at him again. 

"Cira." She loved the way her name seemed more important when he said it. "No one has ever told you that you are beautiful?" Chills went down her spine as she stayed there, her feet frozen and her eyes transfixed by the dark depths of his own. Her heart was loud in her chest; she feared that he and the rest of the world could hear it. She didn’t know what to do. This was Melita’s usual position, not hers! Cira knew Melita had coy tricks for dealing with men, and once or twice her elder sister had taught a few of them to her. Now, she couldnt remember a thing. She decided honesty was the best she could do. Her brain was too befuddled with the luscious gaze of his eyes and face to make up any decent lie. 

"I believe you are being too forward again, Jester," she softly teased as she smiled. "Lorenzo," she finished. 

He gave a slight nod of his head. "Perhaps I am; but is that an undesirable a trait?" he softly asked. Lorenzo leaned his head towards her.

"No," she barely said before his soft lips took hers. Cira’s world seemed to go askew as she kissed him. She felt queasy and solid at the same time. It felt right; somewhere deep inside she knew that to be true. But she couldn’t stop her legs from feeling weak and wobbly. When their lips parted, she could only stare into his eyes, soft eyes that were but a few inches from her own. She felt light, as if the wind could push her aside if he didn’t have his hand under her chin. She stood there a moment more, until a bell rung the hour. Cold dread filled her as she snapped back away from his touch. She turned her head away to see the tall dark bell tower next to the small chapel. The bronze bell could hardly be seen in the little light. It, and what it stood for, was all too visible to Cira. 

"The nunnery," she softly whispered so only her ears could hear.

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