He paused a moment, then leaned down and said in my ear, “I most certainly do.”
The water slipped through my fingers, my makeshift cup forgotten. I stared at the carved face of the cherub before me and then forced myself to look Rodolfo in the eye. “M’lord,” I said, gripping my silk skirt with damp fingers, twisting it.
“Lord Greco!” Barbato interrupted. He called him forward with a flick of two fingers. “There is the matter of your priest…”
Rodolfo glanced back at me and gave me a small, wicked smile. “Wash your face, She-Wolf. Take down the rest of your hair, in the manner of a noblewoman of Toscana. That, Barbato shall allow.” He stepped away then to speak to Captain Ruisi and Lord Barbato, each keeping an eye on me as if I might slip away at any moment.
I tore my eyes away from Rodolfo’s back, trying to make sense of his words. I watched the men join together in a small circle, nodding, gesturing, deciding my fate.
I felt a gentle touch at my arm and saw the beautiful Main Girl at my elbow. To her credit she did not gasp in dismay at the sad state of my filthy, torn silk toga. She only gave me a gentle, tiny smile and reached up to finish pulling down the few tendrils of my hair that remained in her elaborate up-do. “We have but a moment,” she muttered. Another girl appeared and dipped a cloth in the fountain and reached up to wash dirt I’d missed from my face. A third arrived, and they eased me to a seat on the edge of the fountain. Trying to make me presentable, the best they could. Sweeping my eyelids with a coal stick. Dabbing my lips with a shiny ointment.
“Enough,” growled Lord Barbato, edging past Main Girl. “She had her opportunity to be presented as a respectable bride.” He took my arm and yanked me to stand before him.
He was shorter than I. I stared back into his eyes. “I did not ask to be a bride at all,” I said.
“Yes, well, it has always been about more than your desires, has it not?”
I couldn’t argue that. Ever since I got to ancient Toscana, I’d fought. For those I loved. For what was rightfully theirs. For what I’d wanted, hoped for. For love. For peace. For life. But it was always just out of reach.
Was this what God had brought me here to learn? That I could strive, push for what I wanted, but that eventually it was out of my hands?
“’Tis time,” Rodolfo said, stepping toward me in the immaculate costume of a medieval nobleman—a crisp, billowing white shirt, a heavily embroidered tunic that reached mid-thigh, leggings in a fine silk weave, and new boots. How had he changed so fast? He’d been right there just a moment ago. And now here he was again, all GQ Groom of the Middle Ages.
“Rodolfo,” I faltered.
“Shh. Truly you look more fetching even than that day in Firenze in all your finery.”
I frowned in confusion. He thought I was worried I didn’t look good enough for him?
He reached for a coil of my hair and rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger, then scanned my face. “Half Roman empress, half nymph of the wood. Lady Gabriella Betarrini.”
“Soon Lady Gabriella Greco,” Main Girl said as she handed him a white cape.
He gave me a sad smile. “It has a good sound to it, does it not?” He stretched it out and wrapped it around me. I wanted to throw it aside, but I could not deny the warmth of the soft fabric.
Gabriella Betarrini. Gabriella Greco. Gabriella Forelli. I rubbed my temples. Marcello Forelli. Marcello, Marcello. I am sorry, so sorry. I can’t see my way out—
“Take my arm,” Rodolfo said, “it soon shall be done.”
“And that means—”
“I mean it shall soon be done.”
Numbly I placed my hand on the back of his, and we paraded down the steps out front, like a prince with his pauper bride. Beside two white horses, he bent to take my waist in his hands and lifted me to the one in back. A sidesaddle, tied to the horse in front. He placed my filthy feet—once in delicate white sandals, now black with dirt—into one stirrup and then the next, his touch firm but gentle, slightly lingering. I searched his every move, every glance for a hint that he intended to stop this somehow. To free me.
But I got nothing.
“Must I bind your hands around the mare’s neck?” he asked me. “’Tis what Lord Barbato has demanded.”
I looked from him to the awful, thin lord beyond him, on a brown gelding. Then to Captain Ruisi, Lord Vivaro, and the bazillion knights all around us. I gave him a humorless smile. “If I were skilled enough to escape all of these, I would be worthy indeed of the legends.”
“Oh, you are worthy, m’lady,” he said with a smile. “Far more than you imagine.”
He turned his back, mounting his steed before me, and ignored Lord Barbato’s protests. “Captain,” he said with a nod.
We set out, down the hill and through the streets, eventually reaching the Tiber River and crossing it. Dimly I took in my surroundings, continually trying to get my bearings in a city I knew…but didn’t. Every time I thought I had found my way, my place, I was lost again. But then I saw St. John’s. San Giovanni in Laterano, the cathedral of Rome.
It was about where I remembered, near the remains of the old Triclinium Leoninum, with its ancient mosaics my parents had always liked, and near a partially rebuilt palazzo. But the only other recognizable monuments for me were the obelisk, from Egypt, now lying on its side in a field to our right, and a glimpse of the pretty cloisters that Lia liked to sketch, to the other side of the big church. The basilica itself? It looked nothing like the one we knew in our own time, with its massive white facade and statues of popes and saints, so like St. Pete’s.
It was about the length of twenty mall stores and three stories high. I glanced around, still trying to figure out if I was where I thought I was, looking for any possibility of escape. But Rodolfo was right there, gently taking me from my saddle and gripping my forearm, abandoning any sense of the normal lord-lady stuff and giving me no chance to make a dash for it. Did he really want this? Me to marry him when I had no choice?
He ignored my quizzical look and pulled me forward, up the steps, toward bronze doors that I recognized.
“Have you been to San Giovanni before?” he asked when I paused, looking up at the massive doors, twenty feet high and decorated with stars. I thought I remembered Dad saying they came from the first century.
“In another lifetime,” I mused.
Two of Lord Vivaro’s knights opened the fifteen-foot-high doors. The rest of the knights lined the stairs, in guarded formation. I knew there were some others that had gone to the back, to the sides, along the cloisters. There was no way they would allow me to escape.
“Rodolfo, I can’t—”
“Do not say it, Gabriella.”
“But this…” I said, feeling my heart really begin to pick up a pace of panic, “—you don’t understand. I cannot—”
“You shall,” he whispered.
I glanced up at him in confusion. What did that mean?
The modern-day basilica, which would one day dwarf this cathedral, had lots of natural light and massive sculptures lining the walls. But the medieval version was a big, dark building and felt more like a cave than a church. Fat candles dripped along the edges, onto the mosaic stones below, the beeswax scent melding with such intense incense that I felt I couldn’t breathe. The remains of the sunset filtered through tiny windows, high up and to my left, smoke dancing and clouding before them.
Before us stood several men in long robes and hoods, as if part of a secret society. I realized then that Lord Barbato and Lord Vivaro wore identical robes and hoods. The two lords strode forward on either side of us. For what reason? To hide themselves? Because they weren’t totally proud of what was about to come down—forcing me to marry Lord Greco?
Well, they can’t. Can’t force me. I’ll wait them out. They won’t kill me. They wouldn’t dare.
I paused, the truth of it sinking in. Yes, they would. I’ve put them through enough. Embarrassed them enough. Here, in this towering church that felt like a yawni
ng chasm with only our small group within, I felt the truth of it echo through my mind, my heart. It was to end here, once and for all. They’d have me as bride, or they’d have my head. And either way, Firenze came out as conqueror.
I bit my lip. There had to be a way to stop it. Had to be a way.
I looked to the priest when we reached him, over to the men presiding—many of them hidden beneath the shadows of their long hoods—and back again. The priest was some kind of bigwig. A cardinal, maybe? Or a bishop? I wasn’t really sure. But I racked my brain for the right title. I had to speak to him, beg him for mercy, protection. He looked a little Spanish, with olive skin and a red, wide-brimmed, tasseled hat and robe. He looked back at me as if I’d interrupted his hot game of cribbage or something. Like this was the last thing he wanted to do today.
Okay, so I’m not gonna get any help from the holy man. But I had to try anyway. “Your Eminence,” I said, gambling on a title that would convey lots of honor and respect.
He peered at me in surprise, as if he did not expect me to speak at all. The men around me got all jumpy.
“These men force me to these vows,” I said, shaking my head and pulling away from Rodolfo. “I do not wish to do this. I stand against it.”
“Gabriella,” Rodolfo said, taking new hold of my arm and yanking me closer again.
Captain Ruisi slipped behind me, and I felt a cold blade beneath my throat. “She is done speaking. Carry on, Your Eminence.”
“Yes, be on with it,” Lord Barbato demanded.
The small cardinal dude stared at me for a moment from behind the bouncing tassels on the brim of his red hat. Then Rodolfo shifted his grip on my right arm again, even as Ruisi’s arm wrapped around me from behind, holding the blade at my throat. The priest turned tiredly toward the altar, made the sign of the cross and began to chant in Latin.
It was done. Over.
I was getting hitched.
Whether I wanted to or not.
Chapter Eighteen
This can’t be happening.
The cardinal turned to me and shook a silver baton-thingy at me and then Rodolfo, chanting words from a gigantic, open, hand-lettered liturgy book. Behind him an altar boy swung a censer, streaming sweet-smelling incense left and then right. Having trouble dealing, I zoned out, ignoring the words, watching as the puffs of gray smoke rose and danced in the fading light, up past the gold-laden Christ figure on a cross behind the altar. I stared at Him, remembering the first crucifix I’d seen when I first came to ancient Toscana. The tiny one at Castello Forelli in my room.
I’d prayed to God then, asking if He would tell me why I was here. What I was to do.
And the only answer I’d gotten, ever since, was to be with Marcello.
To love Marcello Forelli. Be with him. Forever.
I’d even been given my dearest desire—my family, here with me, making it possible. How could I be giving in? Now? After all we’d been through? The way had been made! I only had to escape this trap.…
I straightened and lifted my chin. Captain Ruisi shifted behind me, and I felt the edge of his blade at my throat. But I didn’t think he wanted to use it. Not really.
Rodolfo dared to glance in my direction, obviously feeling me tense.
The cardinal continued his litany, and with each Latin word, I knew that it was here that I would take my stand. For life. For love. The cardinal turned the page, read another sentence, and then looked to Rodolfo. He had apparently just asked if he was vowing to have and to hold and all that stuff. My Latin was pretty sketchy. But I tensed.
Rodolfo looked down at me and stared into my eyes.
I silently begged him not to do it. Not to utter words I couldn’t echo.
“Lord Greco,” growled Barbato.
But Rodolfo’s sad, brown eyes were on me, his hand now holding mine, caressing it. “I cannot,” he said at last.
Then he glanced behind me, at Ruisi. “Release her. At once.”
Captain Ruisi hesitated and then did as he said, taking a step backward.
“M-m’lord?” the cardinal sputtered.
But Rodolfo’s eyes never left mine. He lifted my hand to his lips. “I cannot,” he said again, looking toward the cardinal as if the matter was done. But he still held my hand.
Barbato and Vivaro were in a full-on tizzy. “What is this?” Lord Barbato blustered, coming near. “You most certainly shall! You gave me your word!”
“But she will not give me hers,” he said sadly, glancing at me one more time. “Out of respect for her valor and courage—this woman has fought for Toscana and nearly given her life, time and time again, for it. That alone should give her the right to marry whom she wishes.” He paused, and his voice went lower, more emotional, even as he smiled. “And it’s clear to me that her heart beats for one man alone. And sadly that is not me.”
“Nay,” said a voice behind us and to our left. “I pray ’tis for me.”
It was a voice I knew well.
Marcello.
My eyes widened, and I turned full around, even as Captain Ruisi drew his sword. It was almost as if I didn’t care. I tried to edge past him, to better see in the dim light, but Rodolfo drew me back.
Marcello was striding toward us, pulling his hood off, drawing a sword from beneath his cape.
Rodolfo and Lord Barbato reached for theirs, too, but then Lia, Luca, Mom, and Dad pulled their hoods back, all displaying weapons. “I would not do that,” Luca said, easily striking away Barbato’s impotent sword. “You don’t want to see the Betarrinis angry. It is most unpleasant.”
Lia moved forward, arrow drawn, to cover the noblemen Lord Vivaro had invited to the ceremony—or at least, those who’d managed to arrive. Marcello, Luca, and my family had obviously removed a few of them and borrowed their hooded capes.
I pushed Captain Ruisi’s dagger away and fell into Marcello’s arms. “You’re here. You’re here,” I said. I couldn’t manage much more through my tears, as I inhaled his scent of wood smoke and leather and spice. How had I forgotten the power of his embrace, the total rightness of it? I shoved away the guilt of being held by Rodolfo.
He pressed my lips to his for a quick kiss, his hand holding the back of my head. “You and your infernal need to rush toward your bridal day,” he teased. “I keep telling you I wish to marry you. Let us see it done in Siena. Properly. In a gown that is clean.”
“Let us make our escape and speak of marriage later, shall we?” Dad asked from a few feet away.
I moved over to him, where he was waving a sword at several men now on their knees. He embraced me with one arm, and Mom wrapped a free arm around me too. “You guys shouldn’t have come,” I said. Not meaning it at all, of course, but seriously scared now, for all of us.
“You are fools,” Lord Barbato bit out. “You shall never escape this basilica. Every entrance is covered by Lord Vivaro’s men.”
I glanced at Lord Vivaro, who looked most pleased with this latest development—he’d have quite a story to tell at parties—but he was careful to nod fiercely after Barbato’s comment. “You might have entered in disguise, but you shall not escape. Every entrance is covered,” he said gravely. “Please, allow Lord Greco to complete his nuptials with Lady Gabriella, and we shall all retire to my palazzo as friends.” He threw his hands wide and smiled.
Lia let out a low growl and moved her arrow to the base of his fat throat. “What do you think, Gabi? Would you like to see these nuptials through?”
“Not this day,” I said.
“How about on the morrow?” Marcello asked, smiling and lifting my hand to his lips. “If I am your groom?”
“Hold that eHarmony thought,” Lia whispered in English. “We gotta get out of here.” She turned her attention to Marcello. “If their men outside gain word that all is not well in here, it shall be a bloodbath, church or not.” I stared at her for a sec. My lil’ sis was growing up. Seriously. Suddenly she was every inch the medieval warrioress. I wished I felt some of the str
ength she was oozing. With the appearance of my family, I was suddenly tired, so tired. Wanting to let my guard down and crumbling.
“Surrender,” Barbato demanded with a small smile. “Or die trying to depart.”
“You are hardly in the position to demand anything,” Marcello said in a harsh tone. He leaned closer. “By the way, I have my castle back. Your displaced troops are with Paratore. And now I have my lady.”
Barbato stared back at him, hatred in his eyes. “It shall never stand.”
“Tie them up against the columns,” Marcello said to my family, before returning his attention to Barbato. “It shall stand. As far as Siena is concerned, my brother paid a far greater price than was warranted, a blood price for Castello Forelli.”
“And so keep your castle,” Barbato said dismissively, as Dad dragged him backward toward a massive granite column. “You shall not retake your lady. She belongs to us now. I will see her wed to a nobleman of Firenze—either Lord Greco or another—” he said, casting a venomous look in Rodolfo’s direction, “—or I shall see her dead.”
“If any further harm comes to Lady Gabriella, I shall see you dead, m’lord,” Marcello said, shaking his finger at Barbato. The veins in his neck bulged.
“You wouldn’t dare,” Barbato said, lifting his chin in defiance.
Marcello lifted his sword, his face a mass of fury. But I grabbed his arm and stepped between them. “Nay, love. He’s not worth it. Kill him, and there will simply be another Fiorentini ready to take his place.”
Marcello sighed. “Although it’d be most satisfying.”
I gave him a little smile. “Agreed.”
Luca returned, and his eyes moved between Marcello, Barbato, and me as if he was thinking, What’d I miss? “All exits are guarded.”
We paused, as a group, trying to think it through.
“There is another way,” said a voice from behind the curve of a massive, green granite column. He moved forward, lurching in his gait, and I saw that it was Father Tomas, pain etched in his broad, white face.
“Tomas!” I cried, rushing toward him. I came under his arm, giving him some support.
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