TIME ENOUGH FOR LOVE
Book Two of the Italian Time Travel Series
Morgan O’Neill
Dedications
For Laura, Mark, Diane, and Tyler. Inspirations all. Heroes all.
~Cary Morgan Frates
For my teachers and professors, at P.S. 42 in Staten Island, N.Y., in the Flagstaff, Arizona Unified School District, and at Northern Arizona University. Thank you.
~Deborah O’Neill Cordes
Where we love is home,
Home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts.
~ Oliver Wendell Holmes
Chapter 1
Early Summer, A.D. 951, Near Lake Garda, Italy
Gwendolyn Godwyn stared at the towering cliff of La Rocca, black against the night sky. It loomed before her, the castle at its apex the epitome of evil. The fortress of Berengar and his wife, Willa of Tuscany. The place where Queen Adelaide was being held captive and cruelly mistreated, the very spot where the queen would die if Gwen and her companions could not set her free.
Mission impossible?
Crouched at the base of a tree, she faced the lower gate of Garda Castle. It was reckless for her to have come down here, to be this close to the gate, but she had to find out if he was still there, alone in the dark.
Stefano. Her cousin. Her fellow time traveler. Murdered. His head on a pike.
The glow of torchlight beyond the gate alerted Gwen. Hinges groaned. Torches flickered. Horses stomped and blew.
Heart racing, she leapt into deeper shadows, hoping she hadn’t been noticed. She watched in terror as Berengar and a huge host of men thundered out of the gate and rode away, thankfully in the opposite direction.
What the hell is he up to now?
“Stay back, you fools! I’ll go out alone.”
Willa! Fists clenched, Gwen edged back from the open gate and studied her enemy. She wished she could run out and strangle the bitch.
Willa grabbed a torch and moved toward the spot where Stefano’s head had been put on display. Gwen leaned forward, holding her breath. Was he still there?
Willa raised her torch.
Oh, God! A skull. Empty, gaping, the lower jaw still connected by ragged tendons and hanging askew.
Staring up, Willa shouted triumphantly, “It is done, Handsome!” She howled with laughter, then curtsied to Stefano, before tossing her hair and walking back to her guards.
The gate shut with a boom.
Left in the dark again, Gwen’s heart blazed with rage and fire. Determined to avenge Stefano, vowing to rescue Queen Adelaide, no matter the cost, she slipped into the forest and headed back to find Alberto and his men.
With each step, she felt his presence growing stronger. Alberto. Dark, smoldering eyes. Tall, with broad shoulders. Sober and intelligent. His sensual smile for her alone.
Despite the terrors she had encountered in this dark place and time, she felt hope because of his love. Alberto, Lord of Canossa, was the queen’s champion, and many followed his lead. Gwen knew there was strength in numbers, but there was always room for more.
I will play a role in Adelaide’s rescue. She pressed on toward Alberto’s camp.
Mission accepted.
*
Breathing heavily, Gwen struggled to reach the top of the rise. She was anxious to tell Alberto what she’d seen and hoped her news would outweigh the fact she’d gone off on her own in the middle of the night.
Berengar. Willa. How she hated them for what they’d done to Stefano, for what they were still doing to Queen Adelaide. She thought back to when she’d infiltrated Garda Castle in her monk’s disguise to find out exactly where Adelaide was being held.
Gwen shuddered, recalling the horrible dungeon. She’d been admitted to Adelaide’s cold, dank cell on the ruse of praying with the queen. Gwen had been shocked by Adelaide’s thin and haggard appearance, but the queen’s depression hit her even harder. Adelaide was nearly bald, the result of Willa maliciously ordering her beautiful hair cut to the scalp – the perfect medieval punishment, designed to bring a woman low. That, coupled with Gwen’s news of Stefano’s death, threatened Adelaide’s sanity. Soothing her as best she could, Gwen had stayed for hours with the queen, holding and rocking her long into the night.
Her teeth set on edge as she remembered a gloating Willa presiding over a banquet as though she were already queen. Willa wanted Adelaide’s crown – that was obvious.
It had been common knowledge for years that Berengar also coveted the throne, but since the poisoning of Adelaide’s late husband, King Lothaire, his desire had turned into open war. Berengar was first on the list of suspects in the king’s death. As for Willa, Gwen now suspected she had played a role in that murder and in Stefano’s as well.
Poor Stefano. She remembered him as he’d once been – charming, handsome, his blond hair glinting in the sun.
And then the earthquake struck and they’d time traveled. She hadn’t seen him again, hadn’t known where he was, until the slaughter at Pavia, where she’d witnessed his capture along with Adelaide by Berengar’s troops.
Stefano had found only horror and death in this era. Gwen had found horror, too, but she’d also found Alberto.
She looked up at the sky and saw the graying dawn, wondering if Alberto was still asleep, or frantically looking for her. Tenth century Italy had no cell phones, no method for sending a reassuring text message, no means of communication other than letters or word of mouth, traveling no faster than the speed of a horse.
Alberto was probably already mustering his troops to search for her.
“Alert! Alert! Where is Lord Alberto?”
Oh shit! They are looking for me.
“Alert! The scout Ranulf has returned with news!”
Gwen hurried into camp, ready with excuses, but saw Alberto greeting a small, dark, wiry stranger, who wore a bow slung across his back. The man’s eyes flicked toward her in surprise, before returning, expressionless, to Alberto.
Alberto was already dressed for battle in chain mail overlaid with a white tunic. His tunic bore his family’s crest, a greyhound gripping a bone in its teeth.
He glanced at Gwen and nodded, before turning back to the scout. “What news?”
“My lord,” Ranulf said, “Berengar has left his keep. He rode out under cover of night with his full complement of troops.”
“Which direction did he take?” Alberto asked.
“North.”
Alberto looked surprised. “North? Not toward us? So, he still doesn’t know we’re here. That is fortuitous.”
Ranulf nodded. “He is heading north because foreign troops have been sighted in the Alps. They wear the eagle crest of––”
“Otto of Germany,” Alberto finished in a level tone.
Despite Alberto’s aura of calm, Gwen could see a glint of excitement in his gaze. This was welcome news.
Alberto pursed his lips. “Berengar has heard the same and rides to thwart the incursion.” He glanced at Father Warinus, who was approaching, brow furrowed. “Have you heard––?”
“Yes, my son.” The priest nodded. “Do you suppose Liutprand managed to get all the way to Germany so quickly?”
“Liutprand?” Gwen asked.
“Liutprand of Pavia,” Alberto replied. “One of Queen Adelaide’s counselors. He is on his way to alert King Otto of the queen’s plight. Thank God he appears to have convinced the king to come to her aid.” He stood quietly for a moment, weighing his choices, then orders started to fly. “Barca, tell everyone we leave within the hour. Father, you and Gwendolyn will ride with us. Ranulf, you’ll need to get to our forces and tell them to meet us
––”
“Alberto, we can’t leave,” Gwen interjected. “You know we’re still tunneling to free the queen from Berengar’s dungeon. We must rescue her. We’ll meet up with you after we have Adelaide out of there.”
“No, Gwen!” Alberto pivoted away, speaking as he walked. “It is too dangerous. You have already risked more than you should. And creeping off in the night is the least of it.”
Startled, Gwen opened her mouth to explain, but was cut off when Father Warinus insisted, “No, my lord, it is you who must reconsider.”
Alberto stopped and turned back. Gwen stared at the priest, surprised by his unflinching stand.
“Your pardon, Lord Alberto,” Warinus persisted, while modulating his tone. “The queen’s life is in danger. You know Willa harbors a great hatred for Adelaide, and without Berengar’s presence, there is no question she will move on the queen. It is just a matter of when. We cannot risk more delay. As it is, I fear we have weeks of toil ahead of us.”
Gwen saw the muscles in Alberto’s jaw flex, his expression one of controlled anger. “The queen will have to hold out while we settle affairs on the field of battle.”
“She might be dead by then,” Gwen said bluntly.
“Gwendolyn is right. Go, fight your battle, my son,” Warinus said. “We two are worthless for that effort. Castle Garda does not suspect our tunneling, so the area will be safe enough. We must stay and try. We cannot abandon Queen Adelaide to fate.”
Gwen watched Alberto consider this. He could be a difficult man, complex, moody, and quite bright, sometimes to the point of arrogance. If anyone did not suffer fools gladly, it was Alberto. Yet, although he would not yield to another’s whims, he was smart enough to listen to all options.
Alberto shook his head, clearly frustrated, but then, to Gwen’s relief, he gave them a grim smile. “So be it.” He turned to his soldiers. “Barca, you will stay with Gwen and Father Warinus, and, for God’s sake, teach her how to use a blade, for she is bound to put herself in danger again, whether we like it or not. She cannot depend on luck any longer. Ranulf, you, too, shall remain here and help in the rescue effort. With more hands to aid in tunneling,” Alberto glanced at Warinus, “you may well reach the queen in days instead of weeks.” His frown deepened, and he looked directly at Ranulf, then Barca. “I will not abide tales of failure from either of you when next we meet, nor do I wish to hear that you’ve taken any new orders.”
Barca swallowed. “Yes, my lord. Your orders, to the letter.”
Alberto shot a look at Gwen, who had the presence of mind to hold her tongue. As Brother Godwyn, she had already countermanded a few of Alberto’s orders to Barca. Alberto would brook no more interference, that was clear.
Alberto’s expression softened. “Come with me, my lady. I would have a word with you in private.”
Nervous, she followed him until they were well away from the others.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have left camp last night.”
“What’s done is done, but if you don’t start behaving as if there are enemies at every turn, which there are, you will end up dead.” He held her at arm’s length for several seconds, simply gazing at her, and then he drew her close, enveloping her, the tightness of his grip speaking volumes.
“I know I took a terrible risk, Alberto. It won’t happen again.”
He drew in a deep breath and then exhaled, hesitating. “Gwendolyn,” he finally said, “you need to know… I once wed for purposes of alliance, and the match was good. Twins were born of the union, a son and a daughter. But alas, the boy and his mother died soon after the birth.”
Gwen stood stock-still, shocked by his words, and the fact that he was opening up to her so fully. “I’m so sorry,” she said softly, reaching up to touch his face. “But… you have a daughter?”
“Yes. Prangilda. She is two years old.”
“Where is she?”
“She lives at my keep in Canossa.”
“I’d like to meet her.”
“You shall.” He gently took her face in his hands. “As you well know, marriage is rarely a love-bond. It is a partnership, a business, with contractual agreements and financial considerations. However, my happiness with you is greater than ever I could have imagined, even at the birth of my son.”
She eyed him carefully and frowned. What about his daughter? Then she remembered where and when she was.
Alberto knelt before her. “I love you, Gwendolyn. When I was waiting for you to make your escape from Castle Garda, I prayed I would see you again. I feared Berengar had captured you, too. I vowed then, if you did escape, I would make you my wife. Yesterday in the glen, I did not make love to you with dishonorable intent, but with the hope and promise that you would share my life. Declare it with me now. Consummation has already taken place. Our mutual oaths will seal our bond before God. A love union. How blessed we shall be!”
Gwen stood in shock, unable to utter a single sound. Marriage? Here? Now?
Stall! Stall! He doesn’t know about the time travel. You can’t lie to him. Now’s not the time. You can’t just blurt it out.
“Do you worry about a dowry?” Alberto asked. “I need no dowry.”
“A priest,” Gwen croaked. Stall! Stall! “Don’t we need a priest?”
It was Alberto’s turn to look surprised. “For our union?”
“Yes.”
“Is that how it is done in your homeland? Here, mayhap royalty would have a holy man at ceremony, but all else need only make their vows, each to the other. Father Warinus could preside, if you truly desire it, but it is not necessary, and there is no time right now. I shall declare you my sponsa nova nupta. The rest may come later; the giving of your hand by your father and the public receiving of my pledge of protection.” He rose and drew her close again. “But that is formality. We shall be bound by our vows in carnal union this day, and you shall come to Canossa to live.”
Carnal union? she thought. This is freaking me out!
“No, Alberto, please.” Gwen stepped back, frantic. “I’m not ready. We don’t even know each other.”
“What is there to know? Jesus God, woman, I am lord of Canossa, and I have declared my love.” He grinned devilishly. “And you are a beautiful she-monk from Britannia.”
Gwen looked into his eyes. No, she was a linguist, a twenty-first century California girl, who had been working on her master’s degree in Italy. The monk’s disguise had at first been a fluke and a stroke of luck, given to her by a priest after she’d time traveled, to cover her skimpy modern clothing. The false identity had given her a modicum of freedom to journey about and survive in this man’s world.
She-monk? As if. Time traveler? Yes.
Shaking her head, she realized he might never understand her truth. Was he too much a man of his time? If so, she’d never be able to marry him, because she would not consider living a lie with the man she loved, lies upon lies about who she really was, where she was from, going on forever. The realization washed over her in a tide of grief.
“Please, Alberto.” Gwen’s voice trembled as she shook her head. “Please, listen to me. As much as I’d love to, I can’t marry you. I’m sorry.”
He looked stunned. “I do not understand.”
“I know,” she said. “I wish I could explain.” She stared at the ground.
“Gwen, do you love me?”
She heard his voice as the faintest whisper. It took all of her self-control to resist, to do what she knew was right.
Their eyes met. “Alberto, don’t. Please, just take me back to camp.”
He got down on both knees. “Do not say no, my Gwendolyn. Promise you will think again on my offer of marriage.” He clasped her hands, holding them, desperate. “Please! Never have I begged for anything before!”
Moved by the depth of his anguish, she knelt before him. Alberto was a proud man. She knew if she refused this time, he would never ask again.
Indecision vied with pragmatism. I can�
�t marry him. I love him! She couldn’t imagine never seeing him again, never holding him.
Alberto’s words repeated in Gwen’s mind: Promise you will think again.
Heart shattering, she opened her mouth to reject him, but instead, at the last moment she heard herself say, “Yes, my Alberto. I promise, but you must give me time.”
*
Gwen worked feverishly to get her things ready to move out, her mind a jumble over Alberto’s proposal. Father Warinus worked beside her, gathering his own gear, but when he stopped abruptly and faced her, she knew he had questions.
“I do not mean to pry, but I saw Lord Alberto take a knee before you. Was he asking your forgiveness for something? Should I have cause for concern?”
“No, Father,” she said, dropping her voice to a whisper, her eyes focusing on the ground. “He said he loves me – wants us to marry – wanted to take our vows right there in the woods.”
When Warinus didn’t answer, she raised her gaze to his. His eyes were wide, mouth open, the very picture of surprise.
“I couldn’t say yes, Father, and I think that hurt him deeply.”
He shut his mouth.
“You see, Father, we hardly know each other, and there are things… I can’t marry him and spend a lifetime lying, and I can’t tell him… I can’t be dishonest.” Gwen hung her head.
“Dear Lord, are you already wed to another?”
Gwen looked up. “No.”
“Do you come to Alberto sullied?”
She glowered. “Dammit, no!”
“Forgive me for asking, but what then can your past possibly hold that is so troubling? If it be sins, ask God for forgiveness and rest easy. If your heart is pure before God, then you need have no qualms about keeping anything from Lord Alberto.”
Gwen stood there, desperately trying to think of a way out of the conversation, when a flurry of motion surrounded them. Everyone was ready to leave. Gwen scanned the area, needing to see Alberto one last time.
“Gwendolyn, go to him,” Father Warinus said as he led his mare forward. “He cannot go into battle with a heavy heart. Give him hope.”
Italian Time Travel 02 - Time Enough for Love Page 1