“Thanks,” I said after a moment’s hesitation. I loved my mom, and she loved me. But I couldn’t remember the last time she’d tossed out the classic “If You Ever Need to Talk” opener. Was that a symbol of our new relationship, here in old Toscana? Or because she was really, really freaked out about me?
I pushed the thought away. It was too much to think about, yet. It only made me want to crawl back into bed and sleep through the afternoon. There was one thing that kept me from it. “Have you seen Marcello?”
“He is out with Luca and the other knights, securing the perimeters, reestablishing boundaries between Castello Paratore and Castello Forelli.”
I looked at her quickly. “It is safe?”
“It seems so. At the moment, anyway. Marcello said he’d be back by supper. It was good for him to go—he spent all of yesterday pacing the hall outside your room.”
I smiled sadly. That was a pathetic way for anyone to spend the day. But I could picture him doing just that, fretting about me. “Giacinta seemed to think that Firenze has chosen to honor our move back into Castello Forelli.”
“It seems so.”
I heard the hesitation behind her words. “Or…”
“Or they only want us to think that.”
I sighed. Meaning, of course, that they wanted to lull us into a relaxed state so we wouldn’t be ready when they attacked.
Giacinta walked back through the door, leading six servants, carrying a tub between them and bucket upon bucket of steaming water. They emptied eight buckets into the wooden tub and left two for me to rinse with.
“I’ll leave you now and be back in an hour with that foxglove tea,” Mom said.
“’Kay.”
I thanked the servants then and bolted the door before slipping into the steaming water, so hot that I had to get in gingerly, inch by inch, getting used to it. But the extreme heat felt good to me, as if I was scalding off the memories I wished to forget. And the water was easing the tension from my neck and the pain from my body.
I glanced down at my right shoulder and winced. A massive green and blue bruise covered it like a cap sleeve. From when I dived into Lord Zinicola’s quarters, I assumed. There were others. On my arms and legs—some as wide as five inches. I had no idea where I’d gotten many of them. Running. Fleeing. Fighting.
I took a deep breath and went under the water, feeling the heat seep through my greasy hair and down to my scalp, over my face, into my ears.
And for a moment I relished the sound of nothing but the pulse of my heart in my own ears, reminding me that I was alive.
I wanted to wait for Marcello on the castle wall, for him to see me as soon as he was within view. But the knights would hear nothing of it, since Marcello had given them strict orders to keep me entirely out of sight. I supposed it was wise; I was a bit of a flag waving in the wind to our enemies. But I wanted to see him the second he was back. So I paced the courtyard until Lia emerged from the Great Hall, set up a couple of targets on sheaves of wheat, and handed me a bow and arrow. “Here,” she said. “You can work out some of that tension that’s about to drive us all crazy.”
I looked at the bow in my hand. “You know I’m lousy with these,” I said.
“Right. Let’s change that.” She strode off halfway across the courtyard and waited for me to join her.
With a sigh I trudged toward her.
“Sheesh,” she said. “You’d think I was making you do all the dirty dishes in the castle. C’mon. It’s fun.”
“Fun for you. You could do it with your eyes closed.”
“Well, let’s see if you can do it with your eyes open.”
I smiled with her, her teasing challenge seeming to awaken something inside me. She knows me, my sister. Better than almost anyone.
Mom and Dad came out then and wanted in. So we paused and set up more targets on sheaves while they fetched more bows and arrows from the armory.
“Great. Now I’m going to get bested by three family members,” I whined. They’d all played around with a bow and arrow set for hours every day last summer after we’d get back from the dig. I’d elected to hole up in my room and catch up on texts and emails from friends until Dad called me down for a round of sparring. It was how Lia had gotten so good. What if she hadn’t? And what if Dad hadn’t encouraged me to fence? I shivered at the thought. We probably would all be dead many times over if my family hadn’t been so intrigued with the ancient arts of war and hunting.
They ignored my whining and settled arrows on their bowstrings, then took aim. With another exasperated sigh, I did the same.
“On three,” Lia said. “One…two…three.”
Mom’s went slightly left, missing the target. Dad’s hit the third ring. Mine went high and broke against the stones of the castle wall. Lia’s hit dead center, of course.
The knights on duty roared and cheered and laughed at our efforts.
“Who invited the peanut gallery?” Mom asked, already tucking another arrow nock on her string.
“Ahh, gives ’em a little something to keep them occupied,” Dad said. “Let them have their fun.”
I bent and retrieved an arrow from the massive bucket Lia had brought out and set up my next shot. If the last had gone high, then I needed to aim slightly below the target. We let another round fly. And this time mine went low, but stuck in the target, in the bottom.
The men laughed as if I’d hit someone in the heel, and I turned, hands on hips, and stared up at them. “Should you not be on the watch for men of Firenze sneaking our way? What if Lord Forelli is in danger?”
They instantly sobered and moved off, back to their positions, with chastened looks as they murmured, “Yes, m’lady.” I felt a little guilty as I turned back, and Dad gave me a Was-That-Really-Necessary? look. But I ignored it and took another arrow as my family all prepared their third shot.
Lia’s was dead center. Mom and Dad both were closer to center. But mine went right. Even after twenty more, I only was able to stick four. “Good thing you’re the archer in the family,” I said to Lia, walking with her to hang up the bows in the armory.
“We all have something we’re good at,” she said with a shrug. “Does it bother you so much?”
“Well, it doesn’t bother me. But I’d like to be a little better at it. Your skills, after all, have proven pretty useful out there.”
Okay, so it does bug me a little, I admitted to myself. I wanted to be better at it than Lia, deep down. Or at least decent. Wasn’t it a big sister’s place to be adequate, if not the leader?
“How about a little round of sparring?” Dad asked me, setting his bow on a hook beside mine.
I smiled. “Rain check? I’d love to, but I’m suddenly totally tired again.”
He nodded, his eyes hooded with concern for me. “It’s best you rest, then. Can I walk you to your room?”
“Sure,” I said. But inside, I was groaning. First Mom, now Dad. Even though we weren’t scheduled to talk-talk for a few days, they clearly had a lot on their minds that couldn’t wait.
I should be happy, I said to myself. After all, I had my dad back. He was here, with me, wanting to help me. I should be willing to listen to him read the numbers from the New York Stock Exchange, if that was what he wanted to share.
We split off from Lia and Mom, who headed to Fortino’s den for a game of chess. A pang of loss struck me then. Fortino, who had worked so hard to live, now dead. “Where did they bury him?” I asked Dad.
“Bury? Oh, you mean Lord Fortino?”
I nodded.
He hesitated. “There’s a plot in back of the castle, on a hill. Marcello buried him as soon as we returned…for obvious reasons. Marcello wished to wait for you, but we had no idea how long you’d be out.”
I grimaced. I could only imagine Marcello’s pain.
“I want to see the site. Visit his grave,” I said. Fortino was gone. Being here, in his castle, where I’d first known him, brought it home in a fresh, painful way.
Dad paused. “Maybe if Marcello is completely sure it’ll be all right…”
“We’ll be safe,” I muttered. We reached the back of the castle and entered one of the turrets to climb the stairs.
Why did it seem like there were a hundred stairs instead of fifteen?
We reached the top, and I paused at my door. “Thanks for bringing me back, Dad. Or are you going to come in and tuck me in?”
He smiled, and I was reminded of how Italian he really looked. Out of all of us, he was the one who looked like he really belonged here. “You can probably handle it,” he said, still smiling. But then he grew more serious. “He loves you, you know.”
Marcello. “I know.”
“I mean, really loves you. I’ve seen it myself, now.” He put his chin in his hand, looked up, and then stared at me again. “It’s pretty complicated for a first love, isn’t it?”
I stilled over his words. First love. As in…there would be a second? Or was I just being overly sensitive? “Tell me about it,” I said, not really ready to get into it—if we were going to get into something at all. I studied him. “But you have to just go with what you’ve been given, right?”
How many times had he said that to me or Lia when we complained about the shape of our nails or the size of ears or our height? Things we couldn’t change. You gotta go with what you’ve been given.
He returned my thoughtful gaze and then seemed to decide to let go of something—or maybe just put it off until later. “Get some rest, Gabs.”
“I will.” I opened the door and was halfway through when I turned and peeked around the corner. He was striding away, had almost reached the stairs. “Dad?”
“Yes?”
“I’m glad you’re here.”
He paused and then gave me a small smile. “I am too.”
“Can you come get me? If Marcello returns early?”
“I can,” he said, “but I’d bet that when he hears you’re up and about, he’ll be to your quarters before I get a chance.”
I smiled and slowly shut the door.
I awakened to the feeling of Marcello’s lips tenderly kissing my lids. “Marcello,” I whispered, wanting to feel his presence, smell the scent of horses and leather and pine and cinnamon on him for a moment longer before I dared to open my eyes.
“Gabriella,” he whispered back. He leaned away, holding one of my hands, and my eyes fluttered open.
We sat there for a long moment, just staring at each other. It was silly, really. But we couldn’t stop ourselves. It was as if we both wanted to be certain that what we were seeing was real. That we could believe our eyes. He really was crazy-handsome. Totally studly in the leather chest armor, a loose coil of hair curling over one side of his face. He’d obviously run right up from the courtyard.
“It suits you, this room,” he said, nodding beyond me, then staring at me again. “You look like a princess.”
I shifted. “It’s not odd, to have me in your mother’s quarters?”
“It’s not odd in that the intended lady of this castle is in her rightful place.”
I smiled, acknowledging What He Was Saying.
“You are well?” he asked, tucking my hair behind my ear.
“Better than I was,” I said, a little embarrassed over what had happened out there, among the oaks. “Forgive me, Marcello. I wasn’t myself—”
“I know that, Gabriella,” he said, now holding my hand in both of his. He slipped off the edge of the bed and kneeled beside it, placing his forehead on my fingers.
I paused. “Marcello?” What was wrong? I held my breath over his hesitation.
“Can you ever forgive me, Gabriella?” he begged, looking up at me, eyes wide and sorrowful. “I failed you. Failed you in letting them take you.”
“Oh, Marcello,” I said, rolling over and touching the top of his head as he bowed it again. “’Twasn’t your fault, beloved. Try as you might, you cannot be everywhere at once.”
“But I was to be your protector. I am your protector,” he said, shaking his head.
I sighed and leaned back, feeling so tired that I thought I might pass out again. What was wrong with me? Mono? Some sort of Time Travel virus? Seriously. I felt sick.
“Marcello, I insisted on going. You cannot take responsibility for those things you do not control. And you need to know that, as your lady, I have my own mind. If you wish to control me…” I shook my head on the pillow and looked up to the ceiling. I didn’t have the strength for this conversation. Not now. For the first time I noticed the ceiling was not only painted a deep blue, but decorated with thousands of delicate, golden stars. “Did your mother like stars?”
He glanced up with me. “She loved them. Once, when she was away to Siena, my father hired a fresco artist to do that, surprising her upon her return.”
I smiled at the romantic gesture. Dimly I remembered a constellation chart in Fortino’s den. His mother’s work?
“She’d spend night after night up on the top of the wall with all torches doused so she could see better. On the best nights Father would take her to the hills, and they would lie on a blanket and watch as the stars drifted across the night sky.” He gave me a tender smile. “I come from a line of men who fall for women with their eyes on the far horizon.”
“My good fortune, that.”
He paused. “Do you feel up to joining us in the Hall for supper? Or should I send a servant up with a tray?”
I hated feeling like the Weakling Upstairs, but I really doubted my own strength at that point. Maybe I really do have mono…
“A tray, then?” he guessed. I could see the shadows of fear in his eyes, despite his best efforts.
“Only if you’ll join me.”
He brightened. “I shall return in an hour.”
We ate, mostly in silence, sitting side by side in front of the fire. I’d drifted off again while he was gone and was feeling half awake. And there was an odd awareness that he and I had never been alone together to eat. It felt strangely…intimate. And that reaction made it feel odder still. What was this? We couldn’t have a meal together and talk? It was almost as if we had so much to talk about that neither of us could figure out where to begin.
“Marcello,” I said quietly, when we’d picked the last of the roasted chicken from the bones and sopped up the sauce with our bread. Cook, just back to the castle today, had outdone herself. “On the morrow, might you take me to Fortino’s grave?”
He abruptly rose and set his trencher on a side table and reached for mine. Then he went to the window and opened it, as if he was suddenly too hot. He stared out for a long time. I’d upset him. The thought of losing Lia as he had lost Fortino…I rose and went to him, wrapping my arms around his waist and settling my forehead between his shoulder blades. “Will you take me there?” I repeated gently.
“I shall. If you must.”
“I must. Fortino…he meant much to me. I am so sorry, Marcello.”
He placed his hands on mine and took a long, deep breath. In it I could hear just a bit of the overwhelming exhaustion I felt inside.
“You are weary too,” I said.
“I am,” he admitted.
I settled my cheek against his back. “We are far too young to feel like old people.”
He laughed. “Indeed.” He turned and cradled the side of my face. “But it shall pass. There is much ahead of us, Gabriella. Fortino…he would wish for us to embrace life.”
Life? He was tired, yes. But he wasn’t feeling this sick kind of tired that I was. Still he was being so sweet…
He studied me. “When shall you tell me what transpired in Roma?” he asked.
“In time,” I said, shifting away. In retrospect, what was so terrible about it? Indulgent Roman baths? Being pampered, dressed in costume? I felt silly, guilty over giving in to feeling like I’d been through So Much. But I couldn’t help it. It felt like a lot. There’d been my harrowing escape, sure. The chase, the capture. The fear that I was ab
out to be made to marry, whether I wanted to or not. The horrific plan to verify that the marriage was consummated…Then our escape from Rome. It just was too much—too much for my brain and heart to take in.
Marcello took my hand before I was too far away. “Rodolfo…did he…? Did he not honor our agreement?”
He wondered if something had happened between us. If that was at the heart of what was going on inside me. For the first time I wondered if it was a part of it. I remembered our kiss in the woods. Our embrace in Palazzo Vivaro. I’d allowed it. Betrayed Marcello. “Can we speak of it later?” I asked, staring at the tile floor, unable to meet his gaze.
He stilled, guessing there was more there—much more—then let go of my fingers. I felt the chill of the air flowing through the window then, on my palm, where his warm hand had been a second before. “Certainly, m’lady.” He touched my chin and waited for me to look at him. “But we shall speak of it, in time.”
I gave him the tiniest of nods, and, after a breath, he turned and strode toward the door. He paused there, his back to me, clearly wanting to say something. “Do you love him, Gabriella?” he finally asked, staring up at the door frame.
His words sent a shock through me. For the first time since awaking at Castello Forelli, I felt awake. “Love? Rodolfo?”
He waited, deadly still.
“Nay,” I said, striding over to him. I put a hand on his shoulder. “Marcello, look at me.”
Reluctantly he turned.
“If there is one thing I know to be true, it’s this: I love but one man. And that man is you.”
His eyes narrowed in pain and confusion. “Then what is it, Gabriella?” he asked. “What are you not telling me?” He took my hand in his and put it to his chest, covering it with his own. “What are you keeping from me that pains you so that you wish to sleep the day away?”
“I know not,” I said to him. “Truly.” I lifted my free hand to my temple. “Mayhap it’s that I’m trying to pull together so much in my mind, my heart, in so short of a time. It’s a great deal to absorb, Marcello. Even without the trauma of the last few days…weeks. Every time I’ve been here, with you, I’ve experienced battle, disappointment. Death.”
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