A Bolt from the Blue

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And, as always, hugs and kisses to Gerry, who regularly suffers through missed weekends and holidays without complaint while his wife pounds away at the keyboard trying to meet her deadline. Sorry about that, Chief!

DUCHY OF MILAN, SPRING 1484

Bright brown eyes peered over the edge of my notebook, the unexpected sight distracting me from the portrait in which I had been engrossed. I had not anticipated company; indeed, I had chosen a secluded spot in which to work so that I might pass the day undisturbed. And thus I was settled in a sunny patch of grass in a far corner of the great fortress that was home to the iron-fisted Ludovico Sforza, Duke of Milan. Away from the bustling parade grounds and paved courtyards, and far from the main castle itself, I’d thought myself quite alone here beside this low stone wall.

But apparently I was not.

Attempting to discourage further interruption, I frowned at the interloper. Undeterred, he widened his gentle cinnamon orbs in soulful appeal. My next tactic was to ignore his presence, but that reaction merely drew a small snuffle from him. In the end-as he had doubtless foreseen-I found myself unable to resist such blatant supplication. And so I allowed my stern expression to soften as I tucked my piece of black chalk into the book as a marker before addressing him.

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