Torrent

by Lisa T. Bergren

  He nodded, holding his hands over mine, still on his chest. “But you’ve also experienced love. Extreme loyalty. Friendship.”

  Yes, but…

  “I understand,” he said at last. “Even for me, ’tis been a great deal. I need to remember that you went from the war, to this. Whereas I had more than a year, without you, adjusting, resting.” He gave me a sad smile and tucked my stupidly stubborn hair behind my ear. “And for a girl of Normandy…such circumstances must be sorely trying indeed.”

  I returned his smile. “Normandy is far more tame,” I said. “At least in some regards.”

  “I am praying that in the coming days, we shall know an era of peace. That is if Rodolfo can maintain his position among the grandi, and me with the Nine—together we might build bridges again, instead of this incessant fighting.”

  “’Twould be good,” I said. If a bit weird. I pictured Rodolfo coming to visit. Marcello inviting him. Sure, dude. Come by the house. Don’t worry if you made moves on my girl. We’ll hang out!

  I had to tell him. All of it. Rodolfo had ultimately been faithful to him, to me. But there had been that undercurrent of wanting something far different.…

  Chapter Twenty-two

  So, apparently, I’d come to the end of my record sleep-a-thon. Because even though my body was trying to pull me back into Slumberville, my mind was Awake, with a capital A. For hours I’d thought of nothing but Marcello, Rodolfo, Dad, Mom, Lia, the past, the future, tossing and turning. The more I thought, the harder I worked at trying to figure it out, the worse it seemed to get.

  I stared at Lady Forelli’s stars until I longed to see the real thing.

  I finally threw off the covers and rubbed my arms against the chill. I carried a candle over to a trunk, rifled through it, and found the one I was seeking—a simple brown gown made of a sturdy wool. No adornment, nothing too fancy. But of an older fashion, and therefore higher at the neck and shoulder, warmer. I tossed it over my head, managed to reach a few buttons, then called it good. I grabbed a hooded cape and wrapped it around my shoulders, pulled on my tapestry slippers—wishing they had Ugg boots—and then long gloves.

  I needed to walk. Outside. Move. See the stars.

  Thinking of Lady Forelli, I blew out my candle. I knew the rest of the castle was likely illuminated anyway, with enough torches lit to guide the knights, should attack occur.

  I cracked open my door to the hall, wincing as it squeaked, since I was next door to the quarters Marcello had taken—Lord Forelli’s. I assumed he was sleeping, and he needed it.

  After several breaths I assumed he’d not heard me. Otherwise, he’d be racing to his door, sword drawn. He was in that kind of protective mood. Then I tiptoed past his door, down the hall, entered the turret stairs, and circled downward to the bottom. I exited through the door, startling a sleepy knight on guard outside it.

  Marcello, really? Isn’t that a bit of overkill? We were inside the castle, after all.

  He stood straighter and gave me a curious look. “M’lady? Is there something I can get you?”

  “Nay,” I said, giving him my most charming smile. “I simply couldn’t sleep. I suppose that after sleeping so many days away, I’m quite finished.” I raised my shoulders in a shrug. “I’m here to walk, get some fresh air.”

  He gave me a polite nod, but I knew he’d be following my every move. How long had I been under guard without knowing it? I supposed it was all right. Understandable. It just…rubbed me wrong. Felt a bit like the ropes on the stretcher a few days ago. Too close to the sort of imprisonment I’d experienced of late, elsewhere.

  I walked to the center of the courtyard, looking up. But the moon was half full now, bright in the clear winter sky, and the stars dim. I sighed, frustrated, wanting one of those moonless, brilliant star nights where there was practically more white than black. And then I started to walk, fast. Power walking, of sorts. Trying to drive out all the frustration and confusion building inside me again like a silent scream. I walked the whole perimeter of the castle, which took about ten minutes. I wished I could be outside, in the woods, running through the trees.

  I was attracting the attention of every guard on watch, but I ignored them. I wanted to break into a run, circling and circling the inside of the wall, but knew that they’d think I really was like a caged wolf. The last thing Marcello needed was more people thinking I was losing it. So I tucked my hands behind me and slowed my stride to a stroll, keeping my head down, thinking, thinking, thinking.

  I was on my fourth round, just passing the kitchen and stables, when I saw him waiting in the center of the courtyard. I paused and then approached him. “Can’t sleep?” I said.

  “Not if you can’t,” Marcello said, staring with such deep compassion in his eyes that I held my breath. He lifted a bow toward me and said, “Lia told me you tried your hand at it yesterday.”

  “Tried,” I said. “And failed. Most miserably.”

  “Then you must try again,” he said, giving me a gentle smile of encouragement. I had never seen a bow and arrow in his hands, but I had no doubt that he was as expert with them as he was with the sword. “I find it settles me, if I cannot find a suitable sparring partner. Mayhap it shall be the same for you.”

  I nodded and stepped forward. He’d lit several more torches. I knew the guards watched, but I was mostly aware of Marcello. He stepped behind me, gently correcting my stance as I nocked the arrow and pulled back the bowstring.

  “Most overshoot. Aim lower than you think you need to.”

  I let it fly, and it stuck to the top of the wheat sheaf.

  “There you are,” he said.

  I laughed under my breath, positioned another arrow on the string, and aimed.

  “Tell me, Gabriella, what it is that keeps you from sleep,” he whispered.

  I let the second loose, and it still was high, but a couple inches down from the first. I reached for another arrow and prepared for my next strike. “He kissed me, Marcello.”

  His hand stiffened at my waist. Then, “Did you return it?”

  “For a moment.”

  He took several breaths. “Take your shot, m’lady,” he said then.

  I squinted, aiming, but my eyes were filling with tears. I let it go, and it hit the outer ring of the target.

  “So now we are getting closer to the heart of the matter,” Marcello said.

  I nocked the next arrow as if I were a robot, automatically continuing my task regardless of what was going on. I aimed at the center of the ring, dark and red and representing—at the moment—every frustration I had. “I do not love him,” I said hoarsely. I let it fly, and it struck the second ring.

  I paused, and Marcello bent to retrieve the next arrow for me. I put my hand on it but did not take it from him, waiting until he met my gaze. “I was moved by his friendship. His loyalty to you.”

  Marcello let out a scoffing laugh. “Rodolfo is quite handsome. Powerful and wealthy. Winsome.”

  “No more than you, m’lord,” I said. “I was under a great deal of duress. And when he… Marcello, you need to believe me… I allowed it, for a moment. But I was confused.”

  “And that was it?” he asked, his tone deadly.

  “One more time. He tried to draw me in, convince me to leave it to God. To attend that first ceremony at Lord Vivaro’s. See if you showed up in time.”

  He paused for one breath, then two. “So he loves you.”

  I dared to face him. His eyes went back and forth, searching mine, and I nodded. “He never said the words. Mayhap it was but a passing fancy—”

  “Nay, I saw it in his face,” Marcello said lowly, stroking my cheek with the back of his knuckles. “You are no man’s passing fancy, Gabriella. You have a way…a way of stealing hearts. You and your sister. Mayhap it’s your Norman upbringing. But every man and woman around you recognizes you as different. Unique. Other. And that makes us all want to know you more.”

  I paused, considering his words. “To be
fair, Rodolfo was playing the role. Doing what was expected of him.”

  Marcello stepped slightly away so he could look me fully in the face. “Surely you are not that naive.”

  “Is he not one of your oldest friends?” I asked in irritation. “A brother?”

  “That brotherhood ended when he attempted to draw you away from me. I just didn’t know it, when I saw him last.” He turned and strode away, but I raced past him and put a hand to his chest.

  “Nay. Was it not he who made it possible for you to take on the robes and hoods of the noblemen at San Giovanni’s?” I was guessing, but it only made sense.

  His pause told me I was right.

  “If he was truly willing to sever your friendship, to walk away from you in order to have me, would he have made the way for you? Would it not have made far more sense to keep you out?”

  “I would’ve found my way in via another entrance, without him,” he ground out.

  “But you didn’t have to, did you, Marcello?”

  “He wanted you to choose, Gabriella. He knew we were there, that I would hear it if you willingly accepted the vows.”

  He looked away, took a deep breath, and then let it out slowly. Too slowly. “So after you rejected him, he did not make any further untoward advances?”

  I wasn’t sure what untoward advances meant, but I could guess from his tone. “Nay, Marcello, nay. He knew he had lost. That my heart beat for one alone.” I reached out and rested my hand against his chest. “You.”

  I took the arrow from his hand, turned, and aimed at the center of the target, now an additional ten paces away. “Ever after, I tried to escape. At one point I went out on a ledge, three stories up and made my way around the corner—”

  I went on to tell him of my leap to the other palazzo, the old servant helping me escape, Tomas’s arrival, and then of Vivaro’s men closing in.

  Marcello stared at my arrow, stuck in the center of the target, and then turned back to me. “By sunup Captain Ruisi had cornered you and the priest.”

  “And by nightfall, I was back in Roma.”

  He kicked the toe of his boot against the hard-packed mud of the courtyard. “And then they took you to San Giovanni, where we found you.”

  “Yes.”

  He studied me. “I must know, Gabriella. You had a knife at your throat, so I would understand.” He reached out and touched my cheek. “Truly I would.” He took a breath. “But…were you ready to accept it? Had we not been there, would you have become…his?”

  I shook my head. “Nay. Nay. Rodolfo knew it. He could see it in my eyes, the answer I was prepared to give, regardless of the threat. That is why he demanded my release.” I reached for his hand. “Why does it matter? He stepped aside, made a way for us. Gave us the only edge he had the freedom to give. Is it not enough?”

  He didn’t answer. He simply reached for my bow, took an arrow from the basket, and aimed. He let go of the bowstring, and the arrow sailed across, hitting the center so close to mine that it cracked. “Not until I know he does not wish to claim what is mine,” he said, looking at me over his shoulder.

  “But I am yours,” I said, putting a hand at his waist. “If there was anything good that came of those days in Sansicino and Roma, ’twas that.” I drew closer, so I could whisper in his ear. “That. That I’m yours, Marcello. Always and forever. That is why I’m here.” I reached around and put a hand on his chest, and he covered it with his hand. “Always and forever,” I repeated. “It’s why God brought me here, to this time, this place. Because I am meant for you, and you for me.”

  He dropped the bow and turned in my arms, taking my face in both of his trembling hands. “And there is nothing in your heart for Rodolfo?”

  “Oh, Marcello,” I said, looking into his eyes. “I care for Rodolfo. But I love you. You have my heart. What must I do to make you believe that?”

  Slowly, never dropping his gaze from mine, he dropped to one knee before me. His intense expression made my heart pound. “Marry me, m’lady. Marry me as soon as we can obtain your father’s blessing.”

  And Mom’s. That might take a while. Oh, and there’s the small matter of convincing them all to live here forever…

  I pushed the hesitation out of my mind, not wanting him to sense any of it. He’d misunderstand. I smiled down at him, at the earnest, hopeful, little-boy look in his eyes, and tears rolled down my face. And I was glad for them, glad to be feeling again. Alive inside. “Yes, Marcello,” I said. “If we can convince my family, I shall marry you.”

  He rose, grinning, and lifted me up in the air, twirling me and laughing. I could hear the low, approving laughter of the guards. If it weren’t for the hour, I knew they would likely be cheering.

  Gradually he let me drop, and I felt the strength of his arms and chest anew. There, in that moment, I remembered a bit of my own strength, my own power. But I was most acutely aware of Marcello, as he seemed to be of me. He bent and kissed me, gently at first, then more hungrily, pulling me closer. Abruptly he broke off, stepped away, his face flushed. I knew mine was as well. He lifted a hand toward me as we circled each other. “We must convince your father soon,” he said.

  “My father and mother,” I said, looking at him with as much passion as he was looking at me. “And Lia. Very soon,” I said. I edged closer and lifted my lips to him. He kissed me then, restrained. Deliciously restrained.

  Then he took my hand, led me to the turret, up the stairs, down the hallway and into my room. I had hopes of more kissing, drawing closer to him in the privacy of my quarters, tossing aside restraint, but he put his hands on my shoulders and looked into my eyes with a grin. “God help me, Gabriella, I cannot take but another second of being close to you. Not if I wish to maintain your honor.” He raised an eyebrow. “Stay here, She-Wolf. I must run to the well and dive in.”

  With that, he turned and left me, firmly shutting the door.

  And I giggled. Then laughed. Laughed so hard I cried, until my stomach muscles hurt. I fell on my back, atop the bed, and stared at the stars above me.

  Oh, yeah, I’m back.

  I. Am. Back.

  I’m engaged. I supposed that I had been technically engaged to Rodolfo, too, but that had been like a sentence—this was like a delicious, secret promise, filled with hope. I paced the room, thinking of a wedding, of looking into Marcello’s eyes and promising him forever, of kisses that didn’t have to end with separation…

  And then I stopped cold.

  Mom and Dad are gonna SO freak.

  And yeah, not in a good way.

  The only thing that got me going again, the only thing that got me appropriately sober to face my family, was that I had to dress for my trek to Fortino’s gravesite. I was feeling kinda manic, alternately up so high I could barely stand still as Giacinta buttoned up the back of my tight-fitting bodice, and so low that I wanted to sink to my knees on the floor and weep at the thought of saying a final farewell to Fortino. It didn’t help that I was pulling on a beautiful, white gown. In medieval society, apparently everyone dressed in white for funerals, symbolic of the afterlife, and blue for weddings. But of course I was totally thinking Brides magazine.

  I’d been thinking of my wedding day for a few years now. What girl didn’t? I’d always imagined it as a small ceremony, with us barefoot on the beach in someplace like Hawaii. But it’d probably have to be different here, marrying Marcello. The whole Sound of Music, massive church gig in Siena…

  “M’lady?” Giacinta asked.

  “Hmm?”

  She paused, and I gathered this wasn’t the first time she’d spoken to me. I buckled down, trying hard to concentrate.

  “Father Tomas,” Giacinta said, “he asked after you.”

  I nodded, shoving away a pang of guilt for pretty much forgetting about him in the last forty-eight hours.

  “He’s a kind man,” she mused, tackling the next set of buttons at my back. “The nicest sort of priest.”

  “Indeed. I like hi
m very well.”

  “The men told me you saved him, back in Roma.”

  I paused, trying to remember. It was honestly fuzzy in my memory, from the time of our escape at San Giovanni to my breakdown on the road.

  Giacinta led me to a seat where she could begin work on my hair. She pulled apart a section and began to comb it, then twisted it into a coil that she wrapped into the next. I didn’t truly care. I trusted her—she’d done miracles with my hair before. “They say that he was done for this world, slumped over, bleeding to death in the saddle when you made it through the gates.”

  “They exaggerate.”

  She paused. “You did not go back for him?”

  It was my turn to pause. I remembered the sound of it. Clashing swords. The cries of men. The dancing light of torches. The Roman guard, riding hard, toward us…

  “Oh, m’lady,” she said, laying a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Forgive me. I’ve upset you.”

  “Nay,” I said. “’Tis all right. We got through. Escaped. That is what is important.” I heard the waver in my own voice. Did she?

  “Truly,” she said agreeably. But she was pretending, suddenly chirpy in her chatter about her toddler daughter, Cook’s return to work at the castello, and what was transpiring over at Lord Paratore’s.

  “Giacinta,” I said coolly, “do you know if Lord Paratore is actually in residence across the valley?”

  “He is, m’lady,” she said grimly.

  Our old nemesis, so close, and with a hundred reasons to try to bring us down. Was my dream of peace, of happily ever after on Marcello’s arm just that—a mere dream?

  There were a few years left before plague would decimate this valley and the ancient cities of Italia—all of Europe, really. We needed times of peace, prosperity to prepare. To shore up food, supplies. So that we could withdraw, close the gates, and do our best to weather the storm. Because after all this, there was no way I would lose Marcello to the Black Plague. No way.