Caterina waved off his comment. “That Sero was surprisingly moralistic.”
“He did tell me to pray while I slept in that cell.”
“Maybe he secretly wanted to be a priest.”
“He missed his calling. Thanks to him, I’m not in a bigamous marriage.”
The joking tone vanished with Caterina’s next words. “Are you married, Giacomo?”
He looked over to find her watching him. “No,” he answered truthfully. And then, hoping to recapture the mood, he asked, “And you?”
But Caterina only frowned and looked away. Was marriage a sore subject? She’d spoken of the pressure on patrician daughters to make useful unions for their families. James felt his stomach clench. He should have thought before he made the jest.
A second later, Caterina looked back, her frown gone and the light expression back on her face. “We should reach Siena soon.”
“A few more days.”
“Surely we can visit an inn once we reach Siena. We’ll practically be in Tuscan lands by then.”
James never forgot that they were still in papal territory—the pope’s lands ended at Siena. If the pope had been behind the attack, his reach would lessen once they left the Papal States. But James wasn’t going to give in to Caterina that easily. “You can sleep in a bed once we’re back in Florence,” he said firmly.
“But Siena is practically Florence,” Caterina grumbled.
“Siena and Florence have fought for centuries,” James shot back. “There’s no way I’m letting you traipse into an inn, revealing yourself as a Medici, in Siena.”
“Letting me?” Her voice dripped with ice.
“I’m a Medici guard. You’re a Medici. So I’ll determine what’s safe.” It was a line he hadn’t tried yet.
“You’re not a bodyguard,” Caterina pointed out. And then she gave him a closer look, as if she could read his mind. It made him shiver. “Why aren’t you a bodyguard? You’re certainly skilled enough, and the pay is better.”
James wondered which guards had been assigned to Caterina. He didn’t know many of the bodyguards; they tended to stick together and ignore the “regular” guards. What would it be like to guard Caterina, following her from morning to night and watching as she traveled the city?
Not much different from this, James reminded himself. He was guarding her, every minute of the day. Of course, her usual bodyguard wouldn’t share a tent with her. And he doubted her usual bodyguard had quite so many conversations about rabbit meat, mushrooms, and donkey races.
“I don’t want to guard people,” James said, ignoring Caterina’s eyes drilling into him. She was always prying for his secrets, even after he’d told her about his childhood, and suddenly a flash of irritation swept through him. But he didn’t let it show. Instead, he avoided Caterina’s gaze and kept walking.
Caterina chattered on, seemingly unaware of James’s darker mood. “I am a Medici, as you pointed out, and at some point I’ll have to cast off this disguise. Why not in Siena? My family has contacts with the Piccolomini; surely they would help me get back to Florence.”
Me. Singular.
James quickened his pace, forcing Caterina to keep up with him. It was petty, but it burned off the choler rising in his chest.
James didn’t know anything about these Piccolomini. They were probably some patrician family, rich beyond reason, but who knew about their loyalties. James had learned quickly in his years it Italy—everyone was secretly allied against everyone else. Patricians had no loyalty here. They changed like the wind. They breakfasted with friends, then plotted against the same friends at lunch, and by dinner they were enemies.
Florence was marked by exiles, vendettas, and plots, some successful, many not, and others still so deep that no one realized they’d even occurred. James had heard the stories from other guards—of the man who spurned an engagement and ended up dead at the blade of the girl’s brother. Or small slights that lead to bloody clashes which dragged on for generations. Just look at the Strozzi. Forty years ago they plotted against the Medici, a rising but still new family, and exiled Cosimo. When Cosimo roared back into town on the power of his money and a rigged election, the Strozzi found themselves exiled. And even though the offending Strozzi was long dead, his sons carried the sins of their father and spent nearly their entire lives in exile.
Backstabbing was a way of life in Italy.
Working for the Medici had been a lesson in Italian politics. While publicly, they were on good terms with the Gonzaga of Mantua, James knew the family had sent spies—envoys, they claimed—to monitor the city. As they did for most cities near their borders.
A thought struck James. There had to be Medici spies in Siena. If he could find them, surely they could be trusted.
He glanced back at Caterina. Her eyes were on the road ahead, as if she could pull them closer to Florence by the power of her will. She turned that gaze on him, one of her eyebrows tilted up. James tried to imagine what expression on his face had conjured up Caterina’s questioning look. Maybe the same thing that twisted his insides—a blend of frustration, concession, and hopefulness, tinged with fear.
What if he made the wrong decision? What if harm came to Caterina because of a choice he made? The thought turned James’s guts to ice.
But he wouldn’t be guarding her for much longer. As soon as he could hand her over to the Medici—or their men—he’d have completed his duty.
Why did that thought catch in his mind, spinning in loops?
James took a deep breath. “Fine, we’ll stop in Siena.”
Caterina’s face broke into a wide smile, stretched from ear to ear. James looked away. Inside, he felt a bubbly joy at having caused that smile, but he pushed down the feeling.
He couldn’t let himself get pulled into her world.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
A wide, winding river stretched before Caterina’s eyes, cutting through the green of the grassy plain with sparkling brilliance.
They were only a day or two from Siena now, James had declared that morning. Finally, they’d left behind the Papal States and entered Tuscany. Even though miles still separated them from Medici lands, Caterina felt more at home in the Tuscan woods. They were somehow greener than Umbria and the air felt sweeter.
The long days of travel took their toll. After the attack outside Viterbo, Caterina had been running for her life, afraid with every snap of a twig in the forest that men would emerge to snatch her away. But at some point over the last ten days of wandering through the woods, Caterina realized she wasn’t being propelled forward by fear anymore. Now it felt like she was being pulled back toward Florence.
A city she thought she’d never see again.
And the fear she’d felt in that field, the certainty that an arrow would strike her dead or a man with a sword would slaughter her, which had felt so real only a week earlier, had somehow turned into a vaguely troubling memory.
She’d realized the day before that she’d barely thought of Fiametta all morning. The thought brought a red blush to Caterina’s cheeks. The maid was suffering simply for serving the Medici, for serving Caterina. But Caterina’s mind was consumed with other thoughts. She no longer worried about if she’d make it back to Florence, now she worried about what would happen when she returned.
Caterina didn’t think her father would be very happy to see her.
And James. What would he say when he learned that he could have taken her a day’s journey to a convent instead of on this trek across Italy?
He won’t say anything. The realization struck Caterina. James wouldn’t pepper her with questions or let his anger bubble over. No, that’s how Caterina would have reacted. James would turn on his stony face, the one that revealed nothing, and hold his tongue.
In some ways, that might even be worse.
She turned her eyes back to the river, its lazy flow the exact opposite of the torrent racing through her mind.
The path had led them to the ed
ge of the river, a shallow spot where a horse could easily cross, but they’d stayed on this side for the night. And now, staring at the river, Caterina felt the urge to submerge herself in the cool water and wash away the last ten days. Wash away the fear that had driven her—and the fear that was waiting for her in Florence.
After setting up the tent a hundred yards downstream, James had gone for a walk. Who went for a walk after an entire day of walking? He said it was to check out the area, in case of an attack, but Caterina wondered if he just wanted to get away from her. She knew that she rubbed him raw with her sharp words and the needling persistence. Everything would go much smoother if he would only defer to her.
Caterina slipped off one boot and then the other. She wiggled her feet in the silt at the edge of the river, a shiver snaking up her spine. The river’s water flowed down from the Apennines, but there wasn’t snow on the ridges this late in the year. Maybe the water came from a spring hidden in the ridge that traced its way down the peninsula.
They hadn’t come this way on the journey south—they’d traveled on the other side of the green peaks to the east. And even in this valley, they avoided the main roads that linked the small towns dotting Tuscany and stuck to smaller paths where they didn’t encounter many other travelers.
Caterina dipped a toe into the water and found it warmer than she’d expected. Even if it came from the mountains, the sun must have poured its heat into the river as it slowly wound its way toward the sea.
She could feel every trace of dirt and sweat on every inch of her body. Her skin cried out for the cool touch of the water. But it was too shallow here.
Caterina struck off downstream, hoping to find a deeper pool where she could dip her body into the water until it enveloped her. She could almost feel the rivulets of water that would smooth her hair and course down her back.
The river widened as it passed near a copse of trees. In the shade of the trees, Caterina saw the perfect place to bathe. But as her eyes adjusted to the shade, she realized that someone was already submerged in that water.
Her heart leapt into her throat. Before she could stop herself, Caterina darted behind a tree, her blood pounding. She took a steadying breath and peeked out.
It was James, of course. He was waist-deep in the water, his back to her, and as she watched he cupped his hands to pour water over his hair. The droplets created a cascade of light as they caught the sun, and then ran between his shoulder blades in a rivulet.
His shoulders were broad, knotted by defined muscles slick with water. As her eyes traveled down his back, Caterina shivered.
Then her eye caught on his right arm, where the scab from the arrow was dark and foreboding next to his pale skin. It would heal, she guessed, but it would leave a scar.
“Excuse me?”
Caterina had been so caught up in her thoughts that she hadn’t noticed James turning to face her. One of his eyebrows tipped up with amusement. Her cheeks burned. But she lifted her chin—partly to hid her embarrassment, and partly to stop her gaze from traveling down his body to see what the river didn’t hide. She’d already seen sculpted pectoral muscles marred by white scars that crossed his chest. Where had he gotten those scars?
“You didn’t tell me you were bathing,” Caterina said, trying to put on her most patrician voice.
“I didn’t know I needed permission,” James said, his voice dancing with laughter.
“You can’t expect privacy if you don’t warn me.”
“I don’t mind,” he said, pouring another cup of water over his head. “But it looks like you might. Your face is as red as a beet.”
Caterina’s words caught in her mouth. “Well—just tell me next time!” She spun on her heels and stomped away through the trees.
Her entire body burned with a mix of embarrassment and irritation. Who did James think he was, to mock her that way? She wasn’t the one parading around naked in a pool, practically daring people to watch her. And that gleam in his eye! As if he’d caught her doing something shameful.
She had been watching him, yes. But not for salacious reasons. She was just interested in the bathing pool. The memory of his broad shoulders revealed her lie, but she savagely pushed it away. Unfortunately, it was replaced by another memory, of the time James had encased her body in his to protect her when he feared they were under attack. She had felt safe in his arms, yes, but that didn’t mean anything.
She threw back the flap of the tent so violently that the entire structure shook. Caterina considered piling up James’s blankets and throwing them out onto the dirt. That would show him. But she didn’t. Instead, she burrowed into her own blankets and decided to pretend she was asleep when he returned.
But she somehow fell asleep before he returned—and he was gone when she awoke. As Caterina blinked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she wondered if he had come into the tent at all.
Had he slept outside without a blanket? It would serve him right.
Then another thought burrowed into her belly. What if he’d left?
There was nothing but honor keeping James by her side, Caterina knew. He had gone well beyond his job description by helping her return to Florence. Had she finally driven him away with her incessant questions and sharp tongue? What if he’d tired of putting up with her?
She threw back her blankets and flew out of the tent.
And there, next to a smoldering fire, sat James.
A crest of relief hit Caterina. She wasn’t alone.
“I thought you said no fires,” Caterina said, instantly wishing she hadn’t. How had she fallen back into those old rhythms so easily?
James raised one corner of his mouth. “I’ll put it out.” He reached for the bucket of water at his side.
“No,” Caterina shot out a hand. “Let me sit by it for a minute.” She made her way around the fire—though, really, it wasn’t much more than embers—and sat on the opposite side from James. The warmth seeped into her hands, leaving her back to fend off the autumn chill in the air. Caterina let out a breath and closed her eyes.
James’s voice broke the spell. “We need to discuss the rules once we reach Siena.”
Her eyes flew open. “Rules?” That single word made her chafe.
“Yes.”
“Like what?”
“Like I do the talking. You don’t speak.”
Her lip curled back. Who was James to make proclamations about what she could do? She opened her mouth to protest when he interrupted her.
“We can’t afford to make any mistakes. Not if you want to get back to Florence.”
Caterina leaned away from the embers. “What kind of mistakes?” Was he just trying to avoid being thrown in jail again?
“The kind that could get us both killed.”
Caterina shook her head. “It’s been over a week. No one has followed us. We’ve barely seen anyone else on these little farmer’s paths. And when we have seen people, no one’s said a word about a Medici kidnapping. I’m not going to stay silent because you’re paranoid that the pope’s men will pop out of a cistern and snatch me away.”
His stony expression didn’t change. When he spoke, his voice came out in a low growl. “I’ve asked every person we’ve seen about news from Florence, or news of the Medici. No one has spoken of the attempt on your life.”
Attempt on her life? They hadn’t been trying to kill her, Caterina was sure of it. She had no value dead, after all. “See? If no one is talking about the kidnapping, the risk must be over.”
“You’re a foolish girl if you believe that.”
“A foolish girl?” Caterina leapt to her feet. “Is that what you think?”
James stood slowly, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He ignored her question. “The risk is greater than ever. If no one knows about the attack, the attackers must have realized that they took Fiametta instead of you. They’re keeping it quiet so they can make a second attempt.”
Caterina’s stomach twisted at his words, bu
t her fury overshadowed the core of ice in her belly. “Or they’ve given up. Maybe Ercole is embarrassed that he was tricked by my father’s plan to have me switch places with Fiametta. Or maybe Lorenzo found them and killed them all.” The thought blossomed in her mind. If the kidnappers had headed south to Rome, they might have run into Lorenzo, after all. And if James was right, if Ercole realized he’d taken Fiametta instead of Caterina, that wouldn’t stop Lorenzo’s rage.
But did Ercole know about Lorenzo’s relationship with Fiametta? If he did, the maid might have earned herself protection. As a Medici maid, she had very little value to the men, but as Lorenzo’s lover, her worth increased.
James’s gravelly voice broke her thoughts. “Men like that don’t give up.”
Caterina narrowed her eyes at him. The certainty in his voice unnerved her. He had to be wrong. And yet . . . what had James done during the half-decade between Scotland and Florence? How had he escaped from a slave ship? Was it possible that he had intimate experience with outlaws like Ercole?
Her eyes traveled from his fists up his chest to his broad shoulders, finally resting on his steely eyes. Yes, she could picture him breaking the law.
Or maybe she had bruised his honor back in Civita. She’d taken control of the situation, from pushing him into that cell to dangling freedom before him if he answered her questions. Maybe James was one of those men who couldn’t stand to follow a woman’s orders.
Foolish girl. His words echoed in her mind.
She only had to get to Siena. Once they reached the city, James couldn’t stop her from revealing who she was.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The twin towers of Siena rose at the top of the hill, a bracket around the city. On one end stood the church tower, lined with white and green, rising up to the clouds. Opposite it, the red tower of the town hall tried to compete, stretching above everything else in the city, but it still fell short of the church tower.
The Medici Prize (The Stolen Crown Trilogy Book 1) Page 19