“Some blood,” she said. “Arrow wound?”
“Yes. It went clean through.” I reached under my skirt for my dagger, then remembered it had been taken at Lord Vivaro’s. “Do you have a knife?”
She smiled and reached for her own, strapped to her calf. “Some girl taught me to carry one here. ’Tis quite handy.” She set it in my open palm and I went over to Father Tomas’s head and began cutting away the fabric of his brown robe. Once I had a flap cut out, I gently tugged on it and winced as it stuck to his skin, lifting it upward like a tent. Blood immediately began to spread again. “Dang,” I said. “I cauterized it, but his robe…it’s stuck in it. Fused with it, almost. We’re going to need to get it off of him.”
“Let’s see how his back is first,” she said. Luca helped us lift him to a sitting position, and I quickly cut one shoulder from his robe, exposing the entire front and back.
“Well, that’s an entirely new fashion for a priest,” Luca quipped, eyebrows raised.
I gave him a smile but then gently edged the fabric away, wincing as if it was my own skin tearing with the movement. “Can someone fetch us water? And clean bandages?”
“I could sew him up,” Lia said, hovering over us.
“You’ve done that once,” I said, remembering the giant whipstitches she’d sewn into my side. “I think your surgical days are over.”
“Fine,” she said, sniffing. “But don’t say I didn’t offer.”
The men cheered again. Then we heard the Romans, doing the same.
“Come on, Marcello,” I muttered to myself as I stared at the amount of fabric still stuck in Father Tomas’s wound. “Tell ’em we have no fight with them, and let’s go home.”
“He’s lost a great deal of blood,” Mom said doubtfully.
“He is my friend. And I will not lose anyone I love this night.”
“Well, okay,” she said.
I closed my eyes, and I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I’m sorry.” I looked at Tomas from the side, hunched over, chin on chest. “This man, Mom…he has more to teach me. I feel it, deep inside me. He’s already taught me some things that will stay with me forever. I don’t want to lose him—not just for me. But for all of us. He’s supposed to be with us. Just as clearly as we’re supposed to be here, in this time. Does that make sense?”
Her eyes met mine across the broad expanse of his back. “I think it does.”
“Good. Then…I’m so tired, I can hardly see straight. Can you see to him? See him through this night?”
“We will,” Dad said, crouching beside me. He touched my shoulder. “Why don’t you lie down, Gabi, before you fall over?”
“I think…I think that might…”
Be a good idea…
So it was fairly uncool for a battle hero, the symbol of a province, the source of Siena’s pride, to basically pass out.
But there it was—I did.
Flat out, cold.
I knew it, remembered it all, as I came to, feeling my shoulder and hamstring ache with every bounce of the stretcher I was on, suspended between two horses. I looked up, saw my sister on the horse behind me, his nose over my calves as he walked, and lay back, groaning. I was basically suspended on a stretcher that hung from the rump of one horse and hung at an angle to attach beneath the neck of Lia’s. I’d seen it once or twice in battle.
My head ached as if it were splitting open.
“Wh-what happened?” I forced myself to raise my head and squint at Lia, a brilliant blur of light with the sun right behind her.
“Fainted, passed out, dissolved,” Lia said, teasing me.
“M-Marcello?” I tried to look up and over my shoulder, but realized then that I was strapped in. Probably so I wouldn’t fall off.
“Nay, ’tis me, m’lady,” Luca’s voice said. He was on the front horse. He paused. “Marcello’s on his way. I see him now.”
“What about the b-battle?”
“The Romans gave it up. Retreated behind their wall again.” I looked to my right and saw Georgii and knew before I looked to the left that Lutterius would be on my other side, fulfilling their promise to guard us. “They weren’t intent on a fight, not truly,” Georgii said.
“Good,” I said. “I’ve had my fill of battles.”
“Once they lost you, they lost their fight,” said Lutterius. “It was always about you, m’lady. And ’twasn’t even their claim to make. They were merely puppets, working for Lord Vivaro…”
“Yes, well,” I said, “I am glad it came to a peaceful end. If you’d be so kind as to assist me, I can now rise.” I struggled beneath the ropes, instantly feeling claustrophobic when they felt as though they were growing tighter.
It brought back too many memories, of being captured, hauled away, imprisoned…
“Hold on!” Lia cried, bringing her horse to a stop. “Gabriella, stop!”
I was frantic, beside myself, out of myself, trying to claw my way to freedom, kicking, crying.
“Gabi, wait!” Mom said sternly, now beside me, edging past Georgii.
I stilled at her voice, panting. I could feel my nostrils flaring, like a cornered, lassoed wolf. She set to my ropes, easily untying one, then the other.
I flung them aside, stepped off the stretcher, and stumbled. The stretcher was higher off the ground than I thought. Lutterius grabbed my arm, intending to help me, but I brushed him off and took several strides away, my hands at the sides of my head.
I was angry, furious, trembling I was so mad…and yet it wasn’t at them…
I cried out then. Screamed at the sky, releasing all the pent-up fear and frustration and fury inside me. And then I screamed again. I don’t know how long I went on before I realized that our entire army stood still, waiting for me to stop, wondering what was wrong with me. I glanced up at them and then away, to the hills. Was that Orvieto, high on the cliffs? I glimpsed Marcello on horseback, racing toward me.
He knew, then. I was awake. And losing it.
I panted, hyperventilating, thinking of the men who had been just west of here, coming after me, encircling me, closing in.
I stumbled away, in the direction of a group of trees in the middle of a field, ignoring my family’s calls, remembering Captain Ruisi striding toward me, batting away my strikes, so easily tossing them aside, taking hold, taking me…
And then he was there, grabbing me again.
I screamed and kicked, fighting his hold, but he held strong, unmoving. Kissing me. Whispering to me. “Gabriella, Gabriella, ’tis me. Your own. Beloved, come back to me. You are safe. You are well. Gabriella…”
I stilled, but I went on weeping, crying as hard as the day I learned Dad died.
But it was Marcello who held me, not Captain Ruisi.
I slowly understood. It was like one had morphed into the other. Blond hair became brown. Blue eyes, chocolate.
“Mar-Marcello,” I sobbed.
His grip eased as he sensed me relax, and I turned and buried my face in his chest, weeping. “I…I was so frightened,” I explained. “The ropes—it brought back…”
“Memories,” he finished for me, his tone tight, even as his hand stroked my head, my face, my back. “’Tis all right, beloved. All right. All will be well in time. Shh, now. Shh.”
“They threatened…I thought…you and I…”
“Would never be together again,” he said.
I nodded. A ridiculous, embarrassing sob left my throat, and he pulled me closer instead of pushing me away. He picked me up in his arms then and carried me the rest of the way to the grove of oak trees. He sat down on a fallen log and cradled me close, held me tight, until there were no more tears to wipe away.
This was how out of it I was: I didn’t even care that I was red-faced, swollen, and snot-nosed from my sob-fest. All I cared about was him, his arms, holding me. Here, I felt safe, for the first time in what felt like years.
“Hold me like this forever,” I begged, sounding like a forlorn, lost little girl, but
unable to stop my pathetic pleading.
“I’d like to,” he said tenderly, running his hand through my hair and tucking a tendril behind my ear, “but there is the fact that we’re still a day’s journey from home.” He gave me a rueful smile. “Would you have us abide in this tiny grove forever? When we are yet in Umbria, not Toscana?”
I closed my eyes and sniffed, so weary again that I thought I might nod off right there. “Wherever you are is home to me, Marcello,” I mumbled.
He bent and reverently kissed my eyelids, first one and then the other, and I left them closed, wanting to remember the feel of his lips upon them. “And my home is with you, Gabriella,” he whispered.
I felt him stiffen, and I opened my eyes as he raised me to a sitting position.
My parents.
“She has come to herself again,” Marcello said, awkwardly trying to set me on my feet from his lap.
“We are grateful to you, m’lord,” Mom said, but her eyes—intense with fear—were on me. Dad frowned beside her. “We can see to her now.”
“As you wish, m’lady,” Marcello said.
He took my hand and set it in Mom’s. Dad’s arm came around my waist.
“I shall not be far, Gabriella,” Marcello said. “And this night you shall rest in my mother’s chambers in Castello Forelli. With a few days’ rest, all will be well. You have been most sorely taxed. Far more has been demanded of you than any woman I know. It ends this day.”
He bowed his head and then eased away. He was promising safety. Recuperation time.
Exactly what I was so desperate for.
But why was I feeling like something else entirely had just come down?
Chapter Twenty-one
I awakened in Lady Forelli’s chambers. I sat up and blinked my eyes several times, wondering if I was still dreaming. There were parts of the room that I recognized as that of Castello Forelli—the gray-white stone blocks, the wood of the window casings—but I’d never been in these quarters before. Maybe they’d sealed it off after Marcello’s mother died; maybe it was too painful for Marcello’s dad to have anyone in it.
I was in the middle of an enormous bed with four elaborately carved posts. Beneath me was some sort of feather layer—it was, by far, the most comfortable mattress I’d been on since I’d arrived. Most were straw ticks, stiff and a bit itchy. On top of me was another down-stuffed blanket, and a wool one on top of that. I pulled them up to my chin, feeling the chill of the massive room, even with a fire burning low in a corner fireplace.
On the far wall was a tapestry, twenty feet wide, twelve feet high, depicting lords and ladies on a picnic, but the intricate threads in colors of gray, blue, and white made the warm scene feel cold to me. The only other decoration on the walls was a crucifix, in silver.
I saw that someone had left me a pitcher of water and a pewter mug. I sat up and poured a glass, gulped it down and then another, my throat parched. Then I pulled on a dressing gown around me—who changed me last night?—and slipped my feet into ballet-like slippers. I went to the window and unlatched the three sets of latches on the shutters, then opened it wide. I was looking south, toward Roma. But all I could see was fog clinging to the brown and green hills below me. I peered over the edge—I was on the second floor, at the back of the castle. Knights loitered below me, on duty, trying to keep moving, stay warm. They were clearly bored.
Bored is good, I thought numbly. I’d had it with the fighting-for-our-lives thing. Maybe we were through it. Forever. Maybe we could settle into regular medieval life now. Embrace life while not having to battle for it every other day. Yeah, that’d be nice.
The door opened, and Giacinta came through with a tray in her hands. “Oh, m’lady!” she said in surprise, as if she didn’t expect to see me at all, let alone up and about. “You’re awake!”
“I am,” I said with a smile. Why’s she so excited? Because we are all back, home in the castle?
She scurried over to me. “Please, m’lady, come away from the window. You’ll catch a chill.” She took my hand and led me to a wide, ornate chair by the fire before throwing a log on the glowing coals, covering my lap with a blanket, and returning to the window to close it up tight.
“’Tis good to see you, Giacinta,” I said. “I’ve thought of you often.”
“As it is to see you, m’lady,” she returned.
“Was it quite trying, your time away?”
“We managed.” She studied me. “The entire valley is celebrating our lord and lady’s rightful return, regardless of our somber weather. But when you didn’t awake, we were so concerned—”
“Wait. What do you mean by such words?”
Her eyes widened. “Why, m’lady, you fell back into your deep slumber on your way to the castello and did not wake yesterday. Your mother said you were fiercely exhausted.”
I nodded and accepted a mug of warm porridge from her. I ached from head to toe. Like I’d been in a car accident. Giacinta bustled around, making my bed and fetching a gown from a massive armoire at the far end of the room.
“Your sister slept by your side that first night, but she said you thrashed about too much to do it again.” Her delicate eyebrows lifted and knit together. “Your dreams must have been most vivid.”
I tried to remember them but could not. But maybe that was why I was so fuzzy-headed. Besides sleeping so long, I had probably been wrestling with nightmares.
“Is everyone well?” I asked. “All those who arrived with us?”
“Indeed. I heard in the kitchen that Father Tomas is sitting up and feeling much better.”
I smiled. “That is good news. And what of…Castello Paratore?” I had to force myself to ask it. “Firenze? Do they move against us?”
She shook her head in surprise. “They have made no move to try to reclaim Castello Forelli. Mayhap they have accepted that Lord Fortino’s sacrifice”—she paused to cross herself somberly—“was a steep enough price to pay.” She drew more fully upright. “With all of Siena behind Lord Marcello, they dare not attack us again. Still, Lord Marcello is taking all necessary precautions. There is no cause for you to fret, m’lady.”
“I see. Thank you, Giacinta.”
She bobbed her head. “Would you like me to fetch a tub and hot water so you can take a proper bath? I did what I could while you slept—”
“That would be lovely,” I said.
“I’ll see to it right away,” she said, with another quick bob. And then she was gone.
I forced myself to eat the rest of the porridge, knowing I’d feel better if I did, even if I didn’t feel hungry. A few minutes later a soft knock sounded at my door, and Mom peeked in. “Ah, Gabi. I’m so glad you are awake.”
I forced a smile—not wanting her to know I’d hoped she was Marcello—and waited for her to approach. She was in a fine gown I recognized as one of Lady Forelli’s. I’d almost worn it once myself. She looked regal, stately, and she gave me a big hug and kiss before sitting in the chair beside me. “Brr, it’s cold in here,” she said.
I unfolded the blanket on my lap, sharing it with her. “Here,” I said.
She smiled and tucked it on the far side of her lap, then lifted her hands to the crackling fire. “That feels good.”
“It does,” I said.
“How are you feeling?” she asked, turning to stroke my hair with her left hand and look into my eyes.
“Like I was run over by a semi.”
She nodded. “I understand. I endured about a tenth of what you did and am feeling the same way. But then I have twenty years on you. I’ll fetch some foxglove tea for you in a bit. You ate something?”
“Some oatmeal,” I said.
“Good girl. In a few days, with proper rest, I bet you’ll feel yourself again.”
Myself again. Who was that exactly? What was that? I was so terribly weary. Weary was the only word for it. It was far different than tired. It was a bone-deep-ache kind of whupped.
“Gabi, your dad and I wan
t to talk to you, when you’re feeling a little better.”
“About what?” I could feel the tension start to take hold in my neck.
“About the future. Your future. And ours. On the road…coming back here…”
“I lost it,” I said numbly.
She nodded and turned to stare into the fire as I was doing. “It’s understandable, Gabs. You’ve been through so much. But it—”
“Scared you,” I finished for her. I knew what she meant. It had scared me, too. Left me in this numb place.
“Yes,” she said, daring to look at me again. I glanced at her and saw there were tears in her big, blue eyes. Normally that’d make me tear up too—I’d inherited my dad’s Kleenex response to Hallmark commercials—but it was like I was watching us from the corner of the room. Observing. Not feeling.
“I know you think you want to stay here, but—”
“I do want to stay here.” I knew that. Regardless of what else seemed to be adrift in my mind right now, my heart had only one goal—to be with Marcello.
“R-right,” she said. “It’s only that your father and I would like to see you in a safe place. A place of peace.” She shook her head. “We don’t want to see you like you were, you know…”
“Freaking out.”
“We don’t want to see that again. We’re worried about you, Gabriella. Seriously worried.”
I nodded and took a deep breath. I wanted to deny it, to tell her it was fine, just a really, really bad moment for me. But it wasn’t the truth. In that moment, as I walked toward the oak trees, as I struggled with Marcello’s arms around me—I had literally thought he was Captain Ruisi capturing me again. Psychotic and break would be a couple of keywords I’d type into WebMD.com, if I was back home. Panic and attack would be two others.
“I understand, Mom. Give me a few days, though?”
“You’ve got ’em, kiddo. We’re here for you. If you need to talk…”
Torrent Page 21
