Waterfall

by Lisa Tawn Bergren

  “Nay.” I looked past her, to Marcello. Romana had gone inside, but he was looking across the courtyard at us, a curious, daring look in his eye.

  “`Nay?’ You mean no?” She reached over and grabbed my shoulders. “You are from the twenty-first century. This is wrong, that we are here, Gabi. A weird hole in some space-time continuum that we fell through.”

  There was fear in her eyes. I was torn between the desire to ease her stress and the desire to defend myself.

  “Is it wrong?” I looked at her then. Really looked at her. “Or is it, in some divine way, perfectly right?”

  She gaped at me. “It’s wrong. Of course it’s wrong.”

  It was as if I’d changed somehow, in my extra week in this time. I’d adopted it more fully than Lia had.

  She was all about getting back.

  I was all about figuring out why I was here in the first place and what I could accomplish if I stayed.

  I grabbed her hand, and she frowned at my fingers, then me.

  “Lia, I need you to give this a chance. To explore it with me. Please. Don’t rush me. I’m afraid to leave. Because of my wound. Because of Marcello. I’m afraid that if I leave, so much will be lost. So much.”

  Her blue eyes, like a stormy sea beneath her furrowed brows, stared into mine for a long time. “How long?” she asked at last.

  “Through the feast,” I said. “I think that by then, you can pull out my stitches, bind me in fresh cloths, and we can make it to the tombs.”

  “Why through the feast?” she pressed. She stepped closer. “Why not now?”

  My eyes trailed from her to the courtyard again. Marcello was striding across to us, his brow now knit in consternation. “Maybe not all the way through the feast,” I whispered. “I just know that today is not the day. All right?”

  She hesitated. “All right,” she whispered at last.

  But clearly, things were not all right. When Marcello arrived, she bristled and turned, ignoring his friendly greeting.

  “She thinks me a coward, unable to stand for what is true,” he said, watching her stride away, then brush past Luca with an angry hand. “She thinks I toy with you, while maintaining a charade with Lady Rossi.”

  “Nay, that is not it at all.”

  He drew closer. “Come. Tell me the truth.” His brown eyes searched mine.

  Okay, try this on for size, Tall, Dark, and Handsome. I won’t be born for almost seven hundred years. How’s that strike you?

  I chose a more moderate path. “Marcello, this is hardly the right time.”

  He shook his head and stepped away from me, hand to his temple. “I do not know if I can continue to pretend, Gabriella.” He gestured to the courtyard. “She arrives, head full of details for our nuptials, and though it’s been a part of my vision for as long as I can remember, I now cannot fathom standing beside her before a priest.” He reached for my hand and brought it to his chest, nestled beneath his own. “It is a position that cannot be taken by anyone but you.”

  I wrenched my hand from his. “Marcello,” I whispered harshly, “what if someone sees?” That’s what came out of my mouth. But I was thinking, Again with the marriage thing! I’m too young.!You are too!

  “What if they do?” he asked, frowning. “I cannot live this way. Lord Rossi arrives this night. I cannot face him, knowing I do not love his daughter! I love you!”

  I tried to swallow. Love? Surely that wasn’t it.

  Infatuation. Connection. Maybe a little lust. But love? I shook my head. I had to get out of here. I was going crazy. Overthinking it. Overfantasizing about it. Lia was right. It was drawing me in. Pulling me down.

  “Where are you?” Marcello asked, taking my hand again. “Your body is here, but your mind is elsewhere.”

  You have no idea.

  “Marcello, we must carry through with what we agreed upon,” I said. “There is too much at stake for you. I have no choice but to continue my search for my mother.”

  “And I will aid you in that.”

  I shook my head. “Lia and I…after the feast, we must carry on. You have more than enough to care for, between your father, your brother, your responsibilities to Siena. I fear that you and I weren’t ever meant to meet, Marcello.”

  “How can you utter such words?” he asked, holding tight to my hand as I tried to pull away. “When I believe that our meeting had to be of the hand of God Himself?”

  I was finding it seriously difficult to resist him, wondering if we might share just one more kiss before I hurtled away through time…. I wrenched my hand away from his and walked to the other side of the arched colonnade, my back to him. “You must pretend, Marcello,” I said, “I can make you no promises.”

  “Gabriella-“

  “Nay,” I bit out, tiredly, feeling the sweat pour down my back. “It is what it is.”

  Not that it should be at all.

  I hid away that afternoon in my bedroom, skipping lunch, and sleeping through crazy dreams in which I was forever saving someone-or getting saved. But by evening, a good third of the guests had arrived, all “clamoring” to meet the ladies of Normandy, the warriors, the “she-wolves,” Siena’s “saviors,” and I was roused.

  People didn’t seem able to tell them no. I wasn’t able to tell them no. So I rose, on Lia’s silent, brooding arm, and together we walked across the courtyard and into the Great Hall.

  When we entered, the entire room rose. I mean, every one of them came to their feet. And the place was packed. They cheered, clapped, smiled.

  And we did our best to be gracious and smile. But what I was able to fake on my own seemed triply hard beside Lia. She kept sending me angry, frustrated glances, until I feared everyone near us had figured out that something was seriously wrong between us.

  I tried, best I could, to keep my eyes from straying to Marcello and Romana, but again and again, that was where they landed. She returned my look, dolefully staring my way, plainly wondering what was to become of us all now. Marcello had told her he’d sent me away because I was attracted to him and it was safer for us to be apart; and yet, now here we all were again, one big, happy family, celebrating Sienese victory.

  Pleading exhaustion and weakness, not all that far from the truth, I excused myself from the table on the dais as soon as I could. Lia and I were halfway across the courtyard when Lady Rossi’s voice stopped us.

  My sister groaned, frozen. I paused, gathering myself, and then turned, forcing a smile to my lips. “M’lady,” I said, as kindly as I could.

  She reached us, with two ladies-in-waiting at her side. They were newbies. Had the others defected, refusing to endure the treacherous ride to this outpost again? She curtsied, deeply, prettily, and her ladies followed suit.

  I glanced at Lia and resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “Please, m’lady,” I said, embarrassed by her show of deference.

  She rose slowly and dragged her pretty brown-green eyes up to meet mine. “M’lady, I am indebted to you and your sister, as is all of Siena.”

  I shook my head. “We did only what we could. What you yourself might have done, in the moment.”

  It was her turn to shake her head. “I think not,” she said, raising one brow and smiling. “You and your sister are indeed uncommon.”

  I made the introductions then, between her and my sister. To her credit, Lia managed to hold her own, like she was playing a part in a medieval play. I then excused her, and Romana did the same with her ladies-in-waiting. Arm in arm, like two old friends strolling the park, we moved off, with me trying to act like I wasn’t dying, both from the pain in my side and the pain in my heart.

  “I am to leave as soon as I can, Lady Romana,” I said. I dared to glance into her eyes. “I only need a few more days to heal, and then I believe I can endure the ride to Normandy.”

  She nodded, staring ahead, as if weighing my words, deciding if she believed them. “I know you were most severely injured.”

  “Yes,” I said. Most severely. My he
art has been lacerated. Split open. Or is it my brain? I don’t seem to be thinking clearly.

  She stopped and turned toward me, taking my hand in her two small ones. “Lady Betarrini, my father believes he has a credible witness-that your mother is known to have been in Pistoia.”

  I pulled my head back, hoping I didn’t appear as doubtful as I felt. My mother, here? Could she have found a way to travel through the tomb? Or had she found another portal? Was it not far more likely that Romana simply wanted to get me away as soon as possible? To Florence’s north, deep beyond the border? I smiled, leaping on this tidbit, a tiny path out of our sinking sand.

  “Truly?” I said, squeezing her hand. “Oh, that is good news. We’d be off today if it weren’t for this wound.” I gestured down to my side.

  “Nay,” she said, “You mustn’t endanger yourself. You have already suffered much. But my father has already sent four men on the journey there. They should return soon with news.”

  “That is more than kind,” I said. I shook my head. “You don’t know what it would mean, to be reunited.” I stared at her, hard. “And then we can be off. Back to Normandy.”

  “Oh?” she said, lightly. I had to give her credit. Had our roles been reversed, I would have been offering to help her pack, pushing her out the door, promising that my father’s men would meet her on the road in between.

  “Oh, yes,” I intoned. “As soon as we are together, we are gone from this far country. We have politics of our own to consider.” Visions of my mother arguing with the Italian archaeology authorities raced through my mind. Its hardly the life-and-death stuff of this era, but hey, its still politics… .

  “I am certain it is as absorbing as our own,” she said. Her wise eyes studied mine, and finding some sort of confidence there, she squeezed my hand again and turned. “I bid you good night, Lady Betarrini. You are undoubtedly in sore need of rest. And I must return to my betrothed, or he shall wonder where I have gone.”

  I forced another smile and nodded. “I must get to my quarters at once, or I fear I might collapse and sleep the night through, right here.”

  She smiled prettily and giggled. “Oh, that wouldn’t do.” She steered me back to the first corridor and waited while I went through the door.

  Making sure I wasn’t coming back out, I mused. “Until the morrow, Lady Romana,” I said.

  “Until the morrow,” she repeated, a bit too bright, a bit too friendly.

  I turned and walked down the corridor. Lia waited for me inside my room.

  “Talk about a she-wolf,” she said as I shut the door. She came over to me and, seeing the exhaustion in my face, helped me sit, then immediately began unbuttoning my gown as I pulled the tiresome pins from my hair. “That girl has her claws out. They’re just hidden under gloves.”

  “That girl is a daughter of the Nine.”

  “The Nine-Nine?”

  “The Nine-Nine.”

  She let out a long breath. “Marcello’s intended, daughter of one of the Nine. You sure know how to pick’em.”

  “Yes,” I said in irritation, rising as she undid the last button. I reached to pull my dress over my head and then gasped at the pain brought on by my sudden, irritated movement.

  She said nothing, yet she said everything with her big, blue eyes that looked anywhere but at me. She eased the dress over my head, then pulled a loose gown over my shoulders next, reaching for a brush and combing through my hair.

  “She says Mom’s been seen. In Pistoia.”

  Lids hand stilled and after a moment, she came around to face me. “Pistoia?”

  I knew she was thinking the same thing I was-Pistoia was an old city, built atop Etruscan and Roman ruins. But there was never any draw there for my parents. No real evidence of a site big enough to excavate. Why would Mom go there?

  I shook my head. “She lies. Or her father does. They only want me gone, out from between her and Marcello.”

  Lia grunted. “Clever.”

  “Clever doesn’t begin to cover it,” I said. Gently, I eased myself down to my good side and lay down as Lia pulled the covers over me. “These people have been planning on this union between the house of Forelli and the house of Rossi since Marcello and Romana were children.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously.”

  She had her arms folded and was pacing, a sure sign that she was all riled up. I wished I had the energy to calm her. But she was going to want to talk. I could feel it. And I didn’t know how long I could stay awake to listen.

  “Gabi,” she said, kneeling beside me.

  “Yeah?”

  “I’ve been thinking.”

  “No good can come of that,” I said dismissively, closing my eyes.

  “No, really. I was thinking. Well, it’s not really right of me to get in the way. To demand you leave here. Leave Marcello. Not if you think this might be where your heart is leading.”

  “My heart is leading me home,” I said, drilling my eyes into hers. I didn’t need her doubt. I had enough of my own to deal with.

  She sighed in relief but still looked confused. “But you said-“

  “Forget what I said. Tomorrow, you pull the stitches from my side. We’ll be on our way the following day.”

  Her eyes became as cloudy as the Caribbean on a stormy day. She shook her head. “I do not know if I can pull them out,” she said forlornly.

  “Then I shall get Cook or Fortino or someone else,” I bit out, more sharply than I intended. I sighed heavily. “Please, can we let this go now, Lia? I’m wiped.”

  Really, it seemed to take everything in me to draw my next breath, and then the next. I went to sleep feeling like I didn’t really care if I woke up. It was just too hard …so hard…

  I knew if I didn’t do it right away, I’d never be able to endure it later. And the stitches had to be out, the bleeding mostly stopped, before we went home. There would be no explaining them, back in our own century. So as soon as Lia awakened the next morning, I said, “We need to do it now.”

  She rose and stared at me, brows arched. “I can’t do it, Gabi. I can’t. It’s one thing to operate on you when you’re almost dead.” She shook her head once, “Another to do it when you’re … well, alive.”

  I rolled my eyes and turned to my back. “The kitchens will be full of alcohol, with all this feasting business. Grab a jug of grappa. I’ll drink until I won’t feel anything, I promise. Bring Cook’s sharpest knife; we’ll put it in the fire. You might need to cauterize the wound.”

  “Cauterize?”

  I groaned. “Burn me! If I start bleeding. It’s the fastest way.”

  She blanched and shook her head.

  “Lia, if you want to go home….”

  “I do! But I can’t do it, Gabi,” she said. “I can’t.” I could see in her face that the idea of bringing me more pain, of touching the wound itself, was bringing back all kinds of memories she wasn’t ready to deal with.

  I groaned, totally exasperated. “Go. Go and fetch Fortino. And Luca, if you can find him. But not Marcello.” I needed to steer clear of the man as much as possible. Being with him only made me feel… confused.

  She nodded, fast, threw on a day dress, pulled her hair into a quick knot-oh for the ease of her long, straight hair!-and was out the door in minutes. I rose, went to relieve myself in the chamber pot, washed my face and hands, and then lifted my gown to see the wound.

  It was still swollen and red and angry, barely knit together again, yet the skin was growing around each strand. Already, I knew the pain ahead might be enough to knock me out.

  Feeling sick to my stomach, I let the gown fall back to the floor and padded over to the bed and with some effort, pulled up a blanket. A few minutes later, I saw the latch move on the door and she was inside, but she wasn’t alone. Sheepishly, she looked over her shoulder and raised her eyebrows.

  Marcello.

  He strode in, staying on the edge of the room, far from me. “M’lady, your sister ha
s brought me troubling news.”

  “Oh?” I asked lightly, shooting Lia an arrow glance.

  “She says that you intend to have your bindings out this day. Might we not wait another day? I have sent for the finest of Sienese physicians, and he will see to your care.”

  “Nay. I believe they must come out today. To tarry a day will only bring me an extra measure of pain.”

  He frowned. “Are you certain?” He hesitated, running a hand through his hair and then gesturing toward me. “I’ve seen my share of such gashes. Might I examine your sutures?”

  I glanced at Lia, then back at him. “All right,” I said tiredly. “Allow my sister to situate me.”

  He nodded and turned his back. I pushed down the covers, and Lia brought my gown up, to my chest, leaving my side exposed. She covered my lower hip, thigh, and legs with the blanket again and then coughed. Marcello turned slowly. To his credit, he moved without hesitation to my side, looking at my wound with all the detachment of an ER doc on a TV show.

  “You see?” I asked.

  “It could be another day or two,” he said. “Wait until after the feast. The skin is not yet fused-“

  “I want them out, Marcello,” I said lowly, inviting no argument. “To spend the next few days, thinking about it…” And I had to be able to move, immediately, to the tomb, if we had to. If my mom saw those things, those massive stitches, she’d freak. She’d freak enough over the wound itself.

  “Let me send a messenger to tell the physician it’s urgent. He can be here this night.”

  “Nay,” I said, grabbing his hand. “Take them out yourself. Fast. You can do it. You have a steady hand.”

  His lush lips fell open a bit, then clamped shut. “Nay, I cannot,” he whispered, kneeling beside me and touching my forehead, ignoring Lia. “I cannot do such a thing-bring you pain.”

  “Then bring me a knife, and I’ll do it myself.”