Waterfall

by Lisa Tawn Bergren

  My heart skipped a beat. Just my luck. The dude knew it well.

  “Oiu est votre maison situee?”

  He wanted to know where my home was, specifically. I cast back through my memories of a brief trip through the region. ” Un manoir pres de la riviere. “Near the river.

  “Ahh,” he said approvingly. ” Un endroit charmant.”

  I don’t think I took a full breath until he finally nodded and disappeared into the crowd. Had he bought it? I didn’t think so. Not really. Lord Rossi took a deep breath, made his excuses and departed, and Marcello turned to the window. I did as well. “So, I assume you should have warned me of that one.”

  “Indeed,” Marcello said.

  “Why?”

  “Many suspect him of spying for the Florentines,” he said lowly. “He oft argues on their behalf, urging peace, citing ways our city might gain if we worked with them, instead of against them.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Forgive me, but isn’t that a possibility? Might the Sienese not gain from peace shared?”

  Marcello frowned at me, as if I had just uttered heresy. “Our ongoing war is their doing, not ours. If peace is to come to Toscana, they shall have to repair many years of damages done to us.”

  Fine, fine, whatever, I thought, backing off. I wasn’t going to win that argument, with him all hot and bothered. But how did a known sympathizer of the Florentines remain in the upper crust of Sienese society when emotions ran so hot? The guy had to be buying his way in, somehow. Wasn’t that how it was done, regardless of the era?

  “Come, Lady Gabriella,” Luca said. “Marcello needs to escort his bride-to-be to the dance floor, and I am eager to see if my fine lessons have remained in that pretty head of yours.”

  The floor erupted in polite applause as the previous song ended. Some moved from the lines, others moved into them, as Luca and I did. I refrained from looking for Marcello and Romana, and focused only on Luca, determined to get the steps right.

  “Smile, Gabriella,” he coaxed. “This is not a punishment. It is joy in movement.”

  I gave him a fake smile, though when he lifted his eyebrow in doubt I had to grin in earnest. The music-performed by a small orchestra of lutes, flutes, and violins-began again. We moved in time to it, and I gasped at the glory of everyone doing the same move at the same time. It was as if I was a part of society in a whole new way, connected to them all, in this shared experience. How I wished we would dance like this in my own time! It was refined, flirtatious, fun. None of the bumping and grinding that the kids did at my high school. This was a celebration of men and women, of life, of the draw between us all. I clapped in perfect time and turned, smiling back at Luca.

  “Perfecto,” he whispered, nodding at me in admiration.

  “I had a decent tutor,” I whispered back. But then my smile faded as I thought of Marcello, holding me in his arms, then later disappearing through the door, leaving us both quaking with disappointment. I doubted he’d try and dance with me this night. No, Romana would likely keep him by her side the whole evening. I was surprised that he had escaped to come and stand by me when Lord Vannucci neared.

  Romana’s cousin, Captain Orlando Rossi, approached, and Luca reluctantly released me into his care. I danced with him next, then two others.

  Seriously. If the guys were this hot in Siena in 1332, their greatgreat-great-grandsons had to be there in the twenty-first century. I had to get my mom to leave the ruins and get us to the city. At least once in a while. It would make my summer so much more fun.

  But then Lord Vannucci came near, and the hair on the back of my neck stuck up again.

  “Forgive me, m’lord.” Luca tried to intervene, again at my side. “But I believe Lady Betarrini had promised the next dance to me.”

  “I will wait,” he said, bowing his head a little, still staring at me. Was that a tiny smile on his lips? My heart skipped a beat. There was no way I could have an extended conversation with the man. My French petered out at level two.

  We moved off, and I fumbled through the steps this time, too aware that Lord Vannucci was boring two holes into me with his hot stare. “Do I have to dance with him?” I whispered, as Luca came by me again in our group’s circle.

  “Just once,” he said, sorrowfully. “Make it through, and you can feign a headache. I’ll escort you out.”

  “All right,” I said.

  I clapped with little enthusiasm for the end of the song, and then he was there, in front of me, offering one hand, palm up. He was over six feet tall, about forty. And he never released me with his dark eyes.

  I took a misstep, and he began to count with me in a low, whispered French. “That’s it, Gabriella, that’s it,” he said, as if soothing a lost kitten. As far as I knew, few dared to speak to a relative stranger using their first name. It was reserved for people who really knew you. People who’d earned it.

  This guy, using my first name? Major Creeporama.

  I concentrated on my count and steps, looking over his shoulder, refusing to meet his gaze. I was proud of myself for not messing up again, then got all irritated at the thought of his believing it was because he counted for me, like a patient instructor. We were on the last round. I took his hand again and then couldn’t resist staring back into his eyes. He was handing me a slip of paper. There was the tiny smile again. A smile of victory, like he had me already.

  The dance ended, and I slipped the note into my waistband and clapped, side by side with the tall man. He smiled and leaned over to me, as if to thank me for the dance, but instead he whispered, “Make your excuses and meet me alone, out in the courtyard, in the far corner. En toute hdte, s’il vous plait.” In all haste, please. Hurry. He smiled and then nodded cordially before sauntering off, as if he was your average dance partner, off to catch a cup of punch or something.

  Luca arrived. “Are you all right?” he whispered, taking my elbow. “You look ill. What did he say?”

  “Nothing, nothing,” I muttered.

  “Do you want to take your leave?”

  “Nay. Not yet.” I had to shake him, if I was to read the note in privacy. “Listen, Luca, would you kindly find another glass of water?”

  “There’s wine-“

  “Nay. I’m afraid that will only make me feel worse. Please. Water?”

  He studied me a moment and then left.

  I moved around a pillar and down a small hallway. Finding a door unlocked, I slipped inside and moved over to the window, where the moon was just barely bright enough for me to read the note.

  Votre recherche se termine avec moi. Je sais ou est votre swur.

  Your search ends with me. I know where your sister is.

  I slipped down the staircase, knowing that Luca was probably already where he left me, glass of water in hand. I had to hurry.

  I moved through the dining hall, where servants were clearing the tables, and out into the courtyard, surrounded by three levels of arched colonnades. The moon was climbing higher in the sky, casting deep, spooky shadows. A couple moved through, whispering to each other, then, spotting me, hurried off.

  I swallowed hard, wishing I had that glass of wine now. I’d down it in one gulp. Maybe it’d give me the courage I needed to face the weirdo. I lifted my chin and pulled back my shoulders, refusing to appear afraid, even if I was terrified inside. He knew where Lia was.

  I moved down through the ground-floor colonnade, looking left and then right, wondering if I had misunderstood him. But then I saw his silhouette in the far corner, leaning against a wall, casually waiting on me.

  I stopped, a few feet off, and looked back. We were alone for the moment. “You know where my sister is?” I whispered in French.

  “I do.” He pushed off the wall and walked around me. “You may drop your faulty French now, Gabriella. I know you are not who you pretend to be.”

  I made myself stand still, to bear his stare. He didn’t touch me. But it was like he had.

  “You resemble her.”

/>   “Nay, I do not. You are playing with me. You have not seen her.” I turned to leave.

  He reached out and touched my arm, deceptively gentle. “I have. She is with the Paratores.”

  I froze, hands on my skirts. The Paratores. Impossible. Right? Or most probable of all…. I had convinced myself we would’ve gotten to her before they had the chance.

  Slowly, I turned to face him.

  “Come closer, Gabriella,” he said. “What I have to tell you is for you to know alone.”

  I moved closer, and he offered his hand. Reluctantly, I reached up to take it, and he pulled me into the corner, until my back was against the wall. He traced my cheek with the back of his knuckle, down to my jaw, then down my neck, studying me. There, he let his hand drop. “You did not let me finish. Evangelia resembles you, not in eye or hair color, but in the fine bone structure of your face. It is unmistakable. And she has drawn you, your portrait. I knew you as soon as I saw you.”

  He did know Lia. How else would he know such things?

  He stepped back, letting me absorb his words.

  Two sets of boots came running into the courtyard.

  Vannucci pressed a hand against my mouth and pushed me into the wall. “Stay… still,” he hissed.

  It was Luca and Marcello, hands on the hilts of their swords, looking about madly. But they barely paused to peruse the shadows before they were off to the piazza. They thought I had gone out… to Il Campo, perhaps home to the palazzo.

  Slowly, he moved away from me, the sick expression on his face telling me that he liked being close to me.

  “What do you want from me? Why not take me immediately to her?”

  He let out a humorless laugh. “There are a hundred different reasons, silly girl. The Paratores are Florentine. That presents certain… challenges.”

  “But you were with them. You saw Evangelia.”

  “I did.”

  “Then you can get me to her too.”

  “I could…if I chose to.”

  I stared at him. What did he want?

  He leaned in, his hand against the wall above me, to my right. With his left hand, he gently touched my temple, as if trying to coax a solution out of me. “Think, Gabriella. What would I want from you?”

  Did the guy think I would…? My face twisted in revulsion. He laughed softly, as if he could read my thoughts. “Nay, I have plenty of women to warm my bed. I need something more from you.”

  I cast about for what he was after, bewildered.

  He leaned in, and his breath warmed my ear. “I want… Castello Forelli.”

  I pushed him back and took a step away, unable to tolerate his proximity for a moment longer. He wanted me to sell out the people who had rescued me, fed me, sheltered me? The people who had done nothing but show me kindness?

  He laughed again, circling me like a wolf about to devour a trembling, lone lamb. I ignored him, trying to figure out a solution, something else I might give him in exchange for my sister. “Is she a prisoner? Or a guest?”

  “A guest, for now. Lord Paratore finds her fascinating. He says she showed up among the tombs two days past, the same tombs where he first saw you. She hit her head in her struggle with Paratore’s knights, and ever since, she has been speaking of a time ahead, that she `traveled through time.’ And,” he added, his eyes narrowing, “she remembers nothing of your `home’ in Dordogne.”

  I stared at him, hard, glad that he seemed to think her demented. But she’d arrived only two days ago? When I’d been here a full week. “She …she must be terribly injured. I must see to her. At once.”

  “And so you shall. The price of your reunion is but this one task: You must find a weakness in the castello that my allies can utilize.”

  “You intend to hand over the castello to the Florentines?” I said incredulously.

  He grabbed my arm, sending shards of pain to my shoulder. “Keep your voice down,” he hissed. He looked out to the courtyard and then back to me. “If you want to be with your sister again, you will help us gain access.”

  “Every man in Castello Forelli will die defending her.”

  “Nay,” he said dismissively. “No one’s ideals are as high as they believe. Life is too precious. They shall surrender.”

  I shook my head. “You do not know the Forellis or their knights very well.”

  “And you do not understand the intricacies of Toscana politics. Go, Gabriella. Fetch your sister and return to Normandy, if that is where you are truly from. Simply be on your way and never look back. Leave Toscana to us.”

  I considered his words. Maybe it was best, for me to leave, fast, before I could mess it all up further. I’d done enough damage to Marcello and Romana’s coming marriage. Maybe I could somehow warn Marcello in time, after I had Lia…somehow, some way, we had to find our way out again. Without selling out the good guys.

  At least, all the way. “How will I get word to you?”

  A smile spread across his face and for the first time, I saw his white teeth, gleaming in the moonlight. “That’s a good girl. That’s a very good girl.” He leaned forward and pinched my right cheek between his thumb and forefinger. “I’ll come to you at Castello Forelli. They do not yet have just cause to decline me a measure of hospitality. Be certain you have what I need when I arrive.” He leaned closer, dropped his hand, brushed his lips swiftly across each of my cheeks, and then strode off, his dark cape fluttering behind him.

  I wiped my cheeks with my hands-as if I could wash off his kisses-and shuddered.

  The good news was that my sister was alive and within reach.

  The bad news was I had just made a pact with the devil.

  I hurried across the piazza, staying near the side in case I needed to pause and hide in the shadows. Marcello and Luca would freak if they knew I was out at night, unescorted. They were still looking for me. When they found I wasn’t in the palazzo, they’d probably return to the dance, certain they’d just missed me in the crowd.

  I saw them then, moving through the tunnel, toward me. I ducked into a stone doorway and froze, listening to their muffled voices echo across Il Campo but unable to tell what they were saying.

  I had to leave, return to Castello Forelli on my own, and figure out a way to get to Castello Paratore and free Lia before Lord Vannucci got there himself. Otherwise, I was doomed to play spy for them…and I couldn’t live with myself if I sold the Forellis out.

  I thought through my plan to reach Castello Forelli. I could hide in the woods if I came across any rogue bands of mercenaries or soldiers. It was my only chance. In the light of day, I’d never make it.

  The men disappeared into the Palazzo Pubblico and I rushed up and through the tunnel, then down Via di Banchi to the Rossis’ home. Hurriedly, I knocked at the door, and a wide-eyed servant allowed me access. “Lady Betarrini! Lord Forelli was just here, looking for you.”

  “Yes,” I said, feigning confusion. “Somehow we got separated in the crowd at the dance and then I was outside, all alone.” I brought a hand to my chest as if even the memory brought me breathless with fear. “I am so frightfully weary. I believe I might be taking ill.”

  “Oh, my poor, dear, lady.” She drew me in and shut the door, locking it behind me. I eyed the keys on her waistband, knowing I would need them to get into the stables and get a horse. There was no way I could walk all those miles in the stupid tapestry slippers. My feet would be a mass of broken blisters by the time I arrived. Lady Forelli had been my height, but clearly, her feet had been a half-size smaller.

  She tucked her arm in mine and led me upstairs. “I’ll help you out of your gown and you can go right to sleep. You’ll see. You’re probably just overwrought with excitement over the ball and all those dashing young men.”

  “I’m certain you are right,” I muttered, faking my agreement.

  She unlocked the door and entered the room in front of me. Before she could hook the ring back on her waistband, I turned to her and presented the back of my gown
. “Oh, please, dear lady. Suddenly I feel faint. I must be out of this dress in an instant!”

  I forced back a small smile when I heard her drop her keys to the table as she immediately set about her task. I had seen enough of her to know she was kindhearted but a bit forgetful. Forgive me, friend, I thought, as I carefully placed my lace handkerchief over the keys.

  “Would you like me to brush out your hair, m’lady?” she said once I had shed the russet gown.

  “Nay, nay,” I said turning to her. “I can see to it myself. But I might want to take a turn on the rooftop, gain some air, if my stomach doesn’t settle. You know how it is. Can you help me into this other dress?”

  I lifted my regular gown out of a trunk at the foot of my bed and handed it to her. She held it up as I put my arms in, then turned to allow her to button it up the back. “I know how you feel, m’lady. If I dare to eat onion, my stomach gives me fits all night.”

  I hustled her to the door, and she paused there a moment, looking befuddled. She put her hands in her pockets as if looking for something. I held my breath. “Oh, dear. I have the strangest sensation I’m forgetting something.”

  I bodily turned her and gently urged her outward again. “If you remember what it is, come back at once. It’s late, and no doubt you’re as weary as I.”

  “Yes, yes,” she muttered, walking, not at all convinced, but obedient, above all things, just as a good servant ought to be.

  I closed the door and leaned against it for a moment, then hurried to shove my other things in my two valises. I wrapped the bread in a cloth, and stuffed it in too. I took the round bottle of wine, emptied it in the chamber pot, and then filled it with water from a pitcher, popping the cork back in.

  Then I rushed to the door and quietly pulled it open.

  He nearly gave me a heart attack.

  Marcello stood there in the doorway, left hand on the casing above, right thumb tucked into his waistband. Luca was across the hall, arms crossed, leaning back against the wall.