I shook my head. “He hasn’t had enough time.”
Rodolfo chewed and swallowed, then shrugged. “I say it again. Let us leave it to God. If he arrives in time, you’re meant for him. If not…” A smile pushed back some of his anger. “You have gambled in the past. Why not now?”
“Because the stakes are too high. Are they not?”
He considered me for a long moment, and his smile faded. “Indeed,” he said with a grave nod. His eyes met mine again. “Lord Vivaro shall be here within the hour to fetch you. Forgive me, m’lady. I have failed you in more ways than one.”
“You did what you felt you must.”
He hesitated, as if wrestling with the desire to cross the space between us and kiss me until I admitted I was just a tiny bit in love with him too.
But he didn’t. He didn’t.
Instead he turned and walked from the room without a backward glance, closing the door behind him like a sleeping baby was behind it.
I stared hard at the door, wondering just what had come down. A full minute later I finally moved numbly to the fruit bowl to grab a piece for the road. And discovered Rodolfo’s knife. I picked it up and glanced toward the door.
It hadn’t been left by accident. He was helping me. Giving me the tiniest bit of an opening, if I really wanted it. Was he thinking I’d try to fight my way out through the giant guards outside and all of Vivaro’s and Barbato’s men? Did he really think I’d try? Or did he simply want to erase the guilt over his deception toward me, toward Marcello, in this and yet… “Still end up with the girl,” I muttered, finishing my thought aloud. “Sorry, handsome. But I think I’ve somehow always been promised to another.”
I moved out to the ledge and almost lost my balance right away. I panted like I was in labor, trying to catch my breath and calm down my fluttering heart.
Yeah, it looked easier than it was. The ledge was six inches deep—a tad wider at the window wells. I discovered that having the length of a dollar bill was just not enough of a foundation, once a girl was out on it, ten feet above a portico. It was like being on top of a ladder on top of a crate. That tall.
And the portico roof beneath me was slightly pitched. If I fell, would I be able to stop rolling before I fell off the edge on the far side?
I tried to distract myself, to think of how wide a balance beam was and take comfort in the fact that I had a building behind me, even if my toes were sticking out over nothingness. But then I had totally flunked out of gymnastics. Lia was the graceful one. Me? Notsomuch. And the sandals? Not exactly rock-climbing soles.
Stubbornly I moved on. At least on this part of the building, I was shielded from the view of people below. I could hear them gathering. Laughing. Playfully shouting. Getting ready for a wedding. My wedding.
Thoughts of that got me to the first window. I dared to peek in and glimpsed a man inside, carefully combing his hair with an ivory comb while staring at himself in a looking glass. I straightened and waited for a moment, trying to ignore the goose bumps forming on my bare arms in the breeze, and counted to sixty before I looked again.
He was gone.
With a sigh of relief I moved past the window, knowing if I exited that room, I’d be right beside Mr. Big Black and Mean. I had to get farther away. Much farther away. And it was cold in the evening breeze, maybe fifty degrees, and there I was, out in a silk toga. I had to move to stay warm.
The volume was increasing below, I decided, as I edged onward. It sounded to me that Lord Vivaro had invited far more than what Barbato had wanted there. He’d turned it into a serious party. But then that fit the image of the guy. Were they all told to wear togas?
I’d reached the next window. After a second to gather my courage, I peeked in. The shutters were mostly closed, but I could see a young couple making out—totally making out—and I smiled. I’d be past their window in a flash. And they were into each other wayyyy more than they were into the view. I moved on.
And now, ladies and gentlemen, I give you Window Three. I peeked in. It was empty. I quickly looked ahead at what I’d face next; the edge of Lord Vivaro’s palazzo was but four feet from his neighbor’s. Without the portico covering beneath me, I’d be thirty feet above the ground once I turned the corner. I glanced back at the room. Edging the shutters aside, I decided to jump in for a moment, catch my breath, and warm up a bit. I shakily climbed down into the room and stood against the far wall, panting, closing my eyes.
Lord, is there a better way? Show me. I need Your help. Show me. Protect me. Free me. Amen.
The prayer came easily. I decided that people in total Freak Out Mode were like that: Good pray-ers.
I continued to draw deep breaths like a deep-sea diver preparing for a twenty-foot plunge without a tank and rubbed my arms, willing them to warm up. It was risky, staying here. I had to get farther away while I had the chance.
But it was a total act of will to get back out on that ledge. I moved out, caught my balance, and looked out to the Forum, glad it was mostly deserted at this hour. The sun was already getting lower in the sky. Get going, Gabi. Go!
I didn’t stop until I’d turned the corner and foolishly looked down to the alley, three stories below. Servants moved in and out of a door, dumping dirty water and refuse on a pile. Thirty feet would be a long way to fall. I’m going to break both my legs…or become a quadriplegic…
Move, Gabi, I told myself. I didn’t have time to pause, and the last thing I needed was to be caught here, in the middle of a full meltdown. Move, move, move, I chanted silently, edging right, fighting the urge to move left and back around the corner, over the portico, where the fall would be much shorter. The only thing that eased my mind was that I could literally almost reach the neighboring building. Even though I couldn’t touch it, the sensation of its presence steadied me. It was far more comforting than staring out to the great expanse of the Forum.
After a while of shuffling along, I dared to look up and to my right, thinking I should’ve hit another window well by then.
I pulled up short at what I saw.
The bad news was that on this side of the building, there were no other windows. And it would be impossible for me to escape the front side of the palazzo. The guests at the front would be admiring the palazzo as they arrived, wondering if anyone they knew might be visible in the widows…Someone would be sure to see me.
I studied the columns at the corners, wondering if I could get a good enough grip to slide down to the next level, but quickly dismissed it. They were far too large to get a good grip on. But then I looked across at the neighboring palazzo. It was smaller than Lord Vivaro’s by half but almost as tall. And up ahead, there were three windows on this side of the building facing me.
I edged closer and looked down and into the windows, their shutters shut tight, with only a hint of light inside. Trying to keep the cold out, I thought, feeling the goose bumps roll down my chilled arms. I moved on, trying to get a glimpse of anyone, anything in the other two windows.
I got nothing.
I looked left, back from where I came. Then right, toward the front face of the palazzo. And down, where a kitchen boy dumped some fat and grease on a pile and then moved toward the Forum edge of the property to peek around the corner, up at all the guests. Even from over here on this side of the building, the party was getting louder, with more high-pitched laughter and shouting. How long would it be before they discovered I was missing?
I looked back to the neighboring building. Chances were, the shutters were as flimsy as Lord Vivaro’s, and I could crash through them without a whole lot of effort. They were slightly lower than where I was, which was helpful. But what would I find inside? Would they turn me over right away to Lord Vivaro? He had to have a pretty far reach. My only chance was to crash through, regain my balance, and run on through the palazzo before anyone realized who I was and tried to nab me.
I took a deep breath, tried to balance on one foot as I lifted my right foot up to quickly grab my da
gger. I’m talking Seriously Risky Gymnastic Business. I thought if I had it in hand, I might feel stronger, more ready. But it proved impossible, given my position, and I gave up.
I refocused on the window across from me.
Four feet? I can do that.
But from a standing position? You’re going to miss. Fall to your death.
I stared at the window across from me. Nobody was in the alley now, for the first time in a while….
Before I could think about it another second, I leaped, shoulder-first.
Chapter Fourteen
I remember the sensation of total freefall, with a forward edge, for too long a time. The catch of one leg on a stone ledge. The sound of splintering wood. Rolling, rolling. Something cutting my arm. The sound of breaking pottery. And then I was still.
Gradually I became aware of cold stone tiles beneath me.
The sound of an old man coughing. Wheezing.
Mentally I ran through my body from fingers to toes, squeezing and stretching, checking for broken bones, checking to see if I could move at all. It wasn’t every day I tried my hand at death-defying leaps. But I’d made it. All seemed in order.
When I heard the cough again, fully realized I wasn’t alone, I sat up quickly, reaching for Rodolfo’s dagger as I rose quickly to my feet.
Whoa, dizzy, I thought, fighting to look like I was anything but. My vision gradually settled and centered on an old man, covered in blankets, sitting by a small, crackling fire.
He was smiling, smiling so much that his eyes lit up, but he was gasping for breath. “We…we…have…a door,” he joked.
I’d probably surprised him into his wheezing attack, and instantly I felt a flood of guilt.
I lowered my dagger and lifted my free hand. “Forgive me, m’lord. If I’d had a choice…”
He continued to smile and cocked a gray brow. “A-apparently.”
“You are the master of this house?” I asked gently, to which he nodded. “Are there others here?”
“J-just s-servants,” he managed. He covered his mouth with a fist, fighting to not dissolve in another fit of coughing.
One of those servants might be on their way now, if they’d heard me crash my way in. But then these big palazzos, with their stone floors, weren’t like homes in modern days. My assault might’ve just sounded like a thump to them…which might make them think the old man had fallen. My eyes went to the now-broken shutters—I couldn’t shut them, they’d have to be replaced—to the table I’d overturned and broken pottery across the floor.
We both heard the slap-slap-slap of sandals on the marble floor in the hall.
“Q-quick, h-hide,” the old man said.
I scanned the room and saw that the only decent hiding place or escape was a narrow door beside the hallway door. I hurried over, well aware that I rushed to a place that would be but five feet from where the newcomer would enter. I’d just slipped behind the second door—which appeared to be a narrow staircase leading to the roof—when I heard the first door open. “M’lord, what has happened here?” cried a young woman.
“I—I fell,” the old man said.
“Through the window?” asked the girl, obviously looking over at the shutters.
“I g-grabbed at them, t-trying to break my fall. But failed.”
It was a flimsy excuse, but if he was lord of the house, no servant would argue with him. “Are you hurt, m’lord? Should I fetch the physician?”
“Nay, nay,” he gasped. “I s-simply need a moment to myself. Let me be. Return in half an hour.”
“As you wish, m’lord,” she said. “I’ll send a boy to clean up the mess and bring you fresh water.”
“Good, good.”
I could almost see her bow, her retreat. And then she was gone again. But I waited until the boy arrived, did as he was told to do, and disappeared again.
“You can come out now.”
Tentatively I opened the door.
He smiled at me, already much improved. “Do you wish to tell me who you are?”
“I am a woman being forced to marry a man I do not love.”
He cocked a brow and pursed his lips, considering. “There have been many before you who have endured the same. Many who will follow.”
“But I do not wish to be one of them,” I said. I went to the door and cracked it open to peer down the hall.
“You are Lady Betarrini.”
I looked back at him. “I am.”
A slow smile spread across his face again. “Lord Vivaro will be most distraught over your disappearance.”
“Indeed he will,” I agreed.
“Fortunately for you, I find my neighbor most tiresome. And there have been few occasions in which I have even favored Firenze over Siena.”
It was my turn to smile. “Then I believe we might become good friends.”
He leaned forward, and I stepped across the room to take his hand. “We already are, m’lady. I am Lord Zinicola.”
“It is an honor, m’lord,” I said with a small laugh. “Someday, I shall send you funds to reimburse you for damages.”
“There is little need,” he said, waving me off. “I am an old man who could die any day, with no children and more money than I need. Your arrival is the most interesting thing to happen to me in years.”
I smiled. “While I would love to stay and get to know you further, I must make haste. Would you be so kind as to tell me how I might escape to safety?”
“I’ll do much better than that,” he said. “I shall see to it myself.”
Seeing to it himself meant instructing a trusted manservant, Carsius, who was about fifty years old, to do it for him. Lord Zinicola tottered over to me, placed his finely embroidered wool cape over my arm, and reached for his sword and scabbard, which he handed over to me too.
“Nay, m’lord. I couldn’t.”
He waved me off and pushed the sword into my hands. “From what I hear, you wield it with far more skill than I ever hoped to.” He gave in to a coughing fit. Then, “Put it to good use, girl. Find your freedom.”
I bent and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, feeling more hope with a sword in my hands than I had in days, and then I was rushed down a back staircase that ended in the stables. Carsius clearly wasn’t as keen on this misadventure as Lord Zinicola was, but he did his duty with regal, methodical movements.
“Here, m’lady,” he said, gesturing to a shallow cart already hitched to a horse. “Lie down in the middle. I shall surround you with sacks of grain and drive you to safety. We must make haste. Already they search for you.”
“All right,” I said, climbing into the cart’s bed and lying down, already glad for the protective, warm layer of the cape. It would protect me from the cold and help disguise my toga once I was on my own.
Carsius was halfway through the process of packing me in when we heard a shout near the stable doors. We shared a long look, and he picked up the pace. He’d just placed the last sack atop me, leaving me in a sort of grain-coffin, when someone arrived. “Oh, Carsius, ’tis you,” said a man. “I fear my lord has a favorite guest missing.”
“Missing, you say? Most unfortunate.” I was surprised at how calm he sounded. “I’d assist you in your search, but I am about my own lord’s business, hauling this grain to the poorhouse before sundown.”
“Very well. If you see a woman in a long toga as you travel, will you kindly inform us?”
“Surely every woman in a toga is already at your lord’s palazzo.”
“Not this one.” The man apparently left, and I heard the creak of leather as Carsius took his seat in the saddle. I dared to take a dusty breath. It was good I wasn’t an allergic sort of girl, because this kind of setup would’ve sent me into a major fit. I felt the cart lurch and heard the wheels crunch as we turned and headed out the stable gates. Carsius paused outside, presumably to shut them again, and I listened so hard I could hear my heart pound in my ears.
That was when they neared. Rodolfo. Lord
Barbato. And Lord Vivaro.
“You’ve allowed her to escape, you fool,” Barbato said in a hiss.
“I did nothing of the sort. She was under guard at every moment,” Vivaro protested.
“There must have been one moment in which she was not,” Rodolfo said.
“There is simply no way she could have escaped the palazzo,” Vivaro said, “unless she sprouted wings and flew away. Besides, she is a girl alone, without funds—how far can she get?”
“You do not know the legends of the She-Wolves of Siena very well, do you?” Rodolfo ground out, sounding every bit the frustrated groom with a runaway bride. “We trusted you, m’lord. Trusted you to ensure that this would be a safe place to bring her, to see the deed done.”
The wagon lurched forward again, and I strained to hear the rest.
“I shall make it right and find her. I am as distraught as you are, m’lord. This was to be the feast of the year at the palazzo…”
Their voices faded into the crunch of gravel and stone beneath the wooden wheels of the cart. They had not even bothered to stop us. Were we one of many still on this street? How long until they stopped everyone to search for contraband, like toga-attired brides?
I shifted, gingerly rolling my right shoulder, which had taken the brunt of my fall into Lord Zinicola’s quarters. I was going to have a nasty bruise across it, but it didn’t feel broken or dislocated. Still, it was my right, and that was my sword arm…and my crazy leap had strained my hamstring again, this time in the opposite leg. I could feel it tensing up. Not good for a girl on the move, I thought. A girl alone.
A girl who, if she were discovered, would need to fight her way out.
We traveled for a time, and I fought not to groan in pain every time the cart bumped, an effort that after a while sent tears streaming down the sides of my face. Maybe my shoulder was hurt worse than I thought and the adrenaline of my escape had masked it a bit. I ran through various potential diagnoses I’d find on WebMD.com. Dislocation? I might be able to snap it back into place by slamming it against a wall or tree. Hadn’t I seen that in the movies before? Broken collarbone? A friend had one of those once. She’d just had to wear her arm in sling for six weeks. But it’d be tough to do that and handle a sword. The worst-case scenario would be if I’d actually broken the shoulder at the joint. I pictured myself in a year or two, with an arm frozen in place. There just was no way to heal an injury like that in this day and age.
Torrent Page 14