Night’s slumber slowly relinquished its grip on Olivia. Her eyes opened to flecks of a grey dawn seeping through the window shutter’s cracks. At first, her thoughts were still dormant with sleep, but then the memory of last night’s encounter flashed into her mind – his face, the touch of his hands, the timbre of his voice.
After scampering back to the abbey and into her cell, she had lain awake, unable to purge the encounter from her mind. Scrambled images replayed themselves in her thoughts. Who was he, and where had he come from? More importantly, how had he come to be in the pond? Although afraid of him at first, he had done her no physical harm despite the fact she had struck him numerous times.
Though she hated to admit it, the stranger had awakened new feelings inside her she did not understand. His kiss had both confused and thrilled her. Her mouth tingled at the memory of his lips on hers, the feel of her breasts crushed against his chest. Instinctively, she had known he would not hurt her, even though he had not hesitated to touch her.
Olivia jumped out of bed, determined to brush her thoughts away. Today was the day of the horse fair and races. She poured a cup of water from the decanter at her bedside, pacing as she drank in an attempt to settle her nerves.
She set down her cup, and then swung open the shutters. Dark skies discharged a somber light. She looked past the wind-rustled leaves of the olive tree to the lake beyond. The boulder protruded from its center; its grey, rocky façade was the sole witness to last night’s shocking escapade. A chill wind lashed the water into waves.
From somewhere in the distance came the sounds of blacksmiths hammering, the smell of cooking fires, and the anxious whinnies of horses. During the races, her duties were to assist Sister Vincenza and Sister Agata in the healer’s pavilion.
For weeks, Olivia had eagerly anticipated this day. Competitors and spectators alike had been arriving in a steady stream. Now that the day of competition was here, she both feared and yearned to see the man again, her curiosity about him too powerful to deny. It would perhaps be best to remain locked in her room, safe from the world, but she could not disappoint Sister Vincenza, who had begged and cajoled the abbess to allow her to assist them at the event. Sister Vincenza made no secret of the fact that she hoped Olivia would fall in love and marry one day, so she sought every opportunity to expose Olivia to the world. Sister Vincenza would never have approved of her sneaking out in the dark, thus putting herself at risk as she had last night. She shivered with trepidation. Such an encounter could have ended badly. Thank goodness, the man had not harmed her, even though it would have been easy to do so.
Olivia washed, dressed with reluctance, and prepared for the day. Before long, she left the abbey accompanied by Sister Vincenza and Sister Agata, the abbey’s healer. The healing pavilion was designated to aid anyone who became ill or injured during the festivities or competition.
Despite threatening skies, beyond the abbey walls, gaiety and song filled the town of Sant’Andrea Montecchio. Jugglers and minstrels performed in the streets. Stable lads groomed and saddled skittish horses. Blacksmiths hammered horseshoes. Assistants oiled saddles and bridles. Carpenters hurried to complete the viewing stands that loomed a full storey above the racing grounds. Soon cheering spectators would fill every space. Colorful pavilions of red, blue, yellow, and green decorated both sides of the field. Pennants atop each one fluttered in the cool wind. The aroma of roasting pork and baking bread mixed with the fragrance of spices and herbs from various vendor stalls.
A cloth supported by four poles formed the roof of the open sided healer’s pavilion. Inside, they set to work immediately. Olivia folded strips of linen, Sister Agata laid out small jars of ointments, and Sister Vincenza spread linen sheets over narrow pallets. They worked industriously at their tasks, love for their work evident in everything they did. Near the entrance, they set out tools, mortars, and pestles upon a table. Olivia opened the lids of several large chests filled with ointments, herbs, and vials to have them within easy reach. A row of urns at the rear of the tent contained fresh water to cleanse wounds.
Sister Vincenza snapped a linen sheet into the air and let it float down over the last straw-filled pallet. She tucked in the sides, smoothed it with her hands, and glanced around. “I think everything is ready.”
Olivia put her stack of neatly folded cloths on the table near the urns, before she flopped down on a nearby chair.
Sister Vincenza scrutinized her, and as usual, it seemed as if the woman could see right through to her soul. Of all the nuns in the abbey, and for as long as Olivia could remember, Sister Vincenza had been like a mother to her, nursing her through every illness, teaching and guiding her. From her, more than anyone, Olivia experienced a mother’s unconditional love.
“You’ve been unusually quiet this morning.” Sister Vincenza reached out and took Olivia’s chin in her fingers. “Does something ail you? You look a little pale.”
Olivia shook her head. “I am a little tired. I didn’t sleep well last night.”
“Ah, carina, the heat. It has been insufferable lately, but there is no sun today, only a cool wind. It is certain to rain, but you must smile a little.” Sister Vincenza kissed her forehead. “It’s race day; a day all young women look forward to. It’s not right for you to be confined to this tent for the entire time.” She straightened and pulled Olivia up by the hand. “Why don’t you go for a short walk? Someone so young should not be burdened with so many responsibilities on a festival day. There is plenty of time for you to enjoy yourself before the races begin.” From a small pouch at her waist, Sister Vincenza pulled out a coin and placed it in Olivia’s palm. “Why don’t you purchase some bread and cheese for us to eat later?”
Sister Agata, a half-willing ally, cast Sister Vincenza a warning look, and then turned away. Olivia smiled as Sister Vincenza nudged her out of the tent.
The healer’s tent was the first in a long line that ran along the length of the field. As she walked, strong winds billowed and puffed her high-waisted gown, lifting it away from her linen chemise and loosening strands of her long braided hair.
She looked into each tent she passed, stopping to admire one with several vases a potter had arranged in tidy rows. A shoemaker gave a partial bow and smiled at her as he held out a delicate pair of leather sandals. Olivia shook her head politely and moved on. A baker and his wife removed several loaves of round bread from a large sack. The aroma of meat roasting in the next pavilion made her mouth water. In the adjacent tent, imported silks and other cloths in a rainbow of colors were stacked neatly on a long, narrow trestle. Armorers proudly displayed newly forged swords and daggers.
Olivia strolled by each pavilion, amazed at all the treasures within. Never before had she seen so many beautiful things gathered in one location. Although she loved the nuns and the tranquil life within the abbey, the world outside was full of fascination, and she yearned to experience it. Perhaps one day she might.
Soon she found herself at the end of the row. Nearby, a few people stood around a massive willow tree. Many of its branches brushed against the ground and the leaves shivered in the strong breeze. Bucklers belonging to race competitors hung from leather thongs slung around nails hammered into the trunk at various spots. The wind caused them to spin and swing. To challenge someone to a race, a competitor removed an opponent’s buckler and carried it to one of the judges at the starting line, who would then register both competitors for a particular race. One of the bucklers, honed from highly polished metal, caught her interest, for it stood out from the others. Its beautifully painted crest depicted a long red stripe above a majestic eagle with wings spread wide. More ornate than the others, she wondered about the man who would own such a grand armament.
A brutal gust of wind swirled around her as she stepped closer for a better look.
46
Luca awoke from a restless sleep long before the first grey light of dawn. According to his custom, he wanted to spend the first few hours of the day in meditati
on, planning his strategy for the upcoming races. However, this morning, the only vision in his mind was of the beauty at the lake. Last night’s encounter remained foremost in his mind, distracting, making it difficult for him to concentrate. He could still visualize her curvaceous body, firm breasts, and long silky hair, and the lithe grace of her movements. The memory had kept him from sleep most of the night.
He felt an inexplicable affinity for her. Who was she? More importantly, how could he find her again? He must do it, even though his need to do so perplexed him.
The wind beat against the sides of his tent, sucking the walls in and buffeting them out again. He washed with water from the pitcher on a small table beside his pallet and then donned his braies and red silk racing shirt that lay in readiness spread over his travelling chest. It was early yet and his stable lads were still grooming his horses for the challenges to come. Aromas from cooking fires made his stomach rumble with hunger. He pushed aside the flap and stepped outside. After a brief visit to the midden heap, he went in search of something to eat.
Black clouds floated across dark grey skies. A bitter wind blew and a fresh smell in the air warned of rain to come. People milled about the pavilions and began filling the spectator’s stands. He walked past them until he reached the end of the row.
Then he saw her – last night’s woman of mystery. The sight of her brought him to an instant halt, his breath trapped in his throat. Dressed in a plain, pale grey gown, she stood next to the tree of bucklers. Her only adornment was an azure ribbon braided through her long hair. She was studying a buckler hanging from a branch slightly above her.
His heart pounded with excitement. She was staring at his buckler. He watched, stunned, as she reached up and touched it, running her hand admiringly over the crest.
A gust of wind swirled a cloud of dust and debris around her. Suddenly, rain poured down from the black sky.
A fork of lightning struck the tree, igniting the shield she touched into a brilliant fireball. The flames flashed over her entire body, catapulting her high into the air. She landed in a heap on the ground.
47
Luca dashed through the cold downpour and knelt by the young woman’s side. Steam rose from her scorched, rain-soaked body. Shock at what he had witnessed, gave way to instinct as he examined her. Beneath her singed garments, her chest rose and fell with faint irregularity. He set his hands on both sides of her neck and felt her life’s blood throbbing weakly beneath his fingertips. She lived! The knowledge ignited his hope. She might survive. Delicate toes peeked out beneath the hem of her under-tunic while her shoes, knocked off her feet, lay smoldering nearby.
An ever-growing crowd encircled them.
“Stand back! Make some room!” Luca slipped his arms beneath the unconscious woman and picked her up, her long braid cascading over his arm.
The silent crowd stepped back to create an opening.
Luca rushed in the direction of the healing pavilion, hoping and praying she would not die in his arms. During last night’s encounter, she had demonstrated feisty pluck and an indomitable spirit he had admired. He wanted her to live and would do everything to see that she did.
At last, the healer’s pavilion came into view. The two nuns inside stopped what they were doing. One of them gasped as they rushed to aid him. The younger of the two raised her hand to her mouth. She squeezed her eyes shut and moaned. “Dio mio, it is Olivia.” Her voice quavered with anguish as she gestured to the nearest pallet. “Hurry, put her here.”
Ah, Olivia was her name.
The nun knelt beside the pallet. Tears filled her eyes as she stared down at Olivia’s singed hair and face. She glanced up at Luca, eyes glazed with emotion. “I am Sister Vincenza. Tell me, what happened?”
Luca knew the nuns must have seen the lightning bolt. Everyone had seen it, for it had lit up the entire sky. “She was standing next to the buckler tree when lightning struck.” He had never seen a bolt so close, much less seen one strike and fling a person like a limp doll. He could not erase the horrible vision from his mind. Like an evil halo, the lightning had engulfed her the moment she had touched his shield.
Horrified, the sister gripped the elder nun’s hands. “Sister Agata, please, do all that you can. Do not let her die. My entire family is dead. I cannot lose Olivia too.” She raised her eyes up to Heaven and made the sign of the cross.
The elder woman gave her companion a worried look and nudged Luca aside. With quiet efficiency, she rummaged through her supplies and removed several clay vials sealed with cork, setting them on the floor next to the pallet.
Sister Vincenza composed herself and fetched a basin of water from the rear of the tent.
Sister Agata dipped a cloth into the water, then delicately dabbed away the rest of the soot on Olivia’s face.
Olivia moaned and her eyelids fluttered.
Each touch of the healer's cloth revealed raw, reddened skin. “Her burns could have been much worse. With care, I pray they will heal. She will feel the pain more strongly when she awakens.” Sister Agata removed the cork from a vial. “This is poppy extract. If I can get her to swallow some, it will lessen her discomfort.” She poured a few drops at a time into Olivia’s mouth. “It is best if we can move her to the abbey while she is still unconscious.” Sister Agata gave Luca a commanding look. “You will carry her.”
This service, he would gladly perform! He nodded just as another crack of thunder shook the world. Hail struck the pavilion, smothering their voices.
Sister Vincenza looked up at the roof of the tent. “We cannot take her out now. We must wait.” She gathered blankets while Sister Agata retrieved the vials and tucked them into a leather pouch, which she flung over her shoulder.
Time passed with excruciating slowness. He paced in frustration, his impatience almost too much to bear. Biting back a curse at the weather, he fought the urge to punch something – a trestle, a chair, something! He hated seeing the fear on the sisters’ faces as they too waited, whispering their pleas to God. He could tell by their reactions when they saw him bring her in, just how much they loved her.
Destiny had put Olivia in his path twice in less than a day – both encounters powerful, memorable. Although he believed a man could carve out his own destiny, he could not deny that fate, or God’s hand, played a guiding role. What stroke of fate had drawn her to touch his buckler among the many hanging in the tree?
The hailstorm gradually decreased and gave way to drizzle. With a nod from Sister Agata, Luca lifted Olivia into his arms. He waited while Sister Vincenza covered her with blankets, and then followed the nuns as they rushed to the abbey.
Stepping carefully, for fear of slipping on the slick cobblestones, Luca did his best to hurry. Occasionally he glanced down at his charge. One of the blankets had slipped away from her face. A soft rain fell on her reddened skin. Her long braid once again tumbled over his left arm. An occasional groan passed from her scorched lips, reassuring him that she still lived. He rushed along, powerfully driven by the desire to protect her.
They passed through the abbey gates and through the front entrance doors. As he followed Sisters Agata and Vincenza down a long corridor, the other nuns paused to watch him. Several made the sign of the cross or raised their rosaries to their lips, eyes wide, and expressions somber.
They came to a room with several large windows and six small pallet beds in two rows. Shelves filled with clay jars, vials, bowls, herbs, and numerous other curiosities covered one entire wall. Behind a table, two nuns ground herbs with a mortar and pestle. At his appearance, they abandoned their task and gestured for him to lay Olivia on a bed near one of the windows.
“Hurry and help me, she was struck by lightning,” Sister Vincenza urged the others as they scattered in various directions to assemble ointments, bowls, cloths, cups, and mysterious herbs.
Luca watched them with a sense of helplessness, a solitary but awkward stag among a group of lithe gazelles.
Sister Vincenza rested
her hand on his arm. “We are grateful for all your help, but you must go now. There is nothing more you can do for her.”
Luca tried to peek around her for one last look at Olivia, but Sister Vincenza blocked his view.
“Please, you must leave us to our work.”
“I’d prefer to wait,” Luca said.
“It is forbidden for you to be here. You must leave. Return to the abbey gates and wait there for word of her condition. That is the best I can do.” She gestured to a nun who peered at them from the doorway. “Sister Maria, please escort the signore.”
Luca reluctantly allowed the nun to lead him from the infirmary. He tried, but could not clear his mind of worry. As he walked past a statue of the Virgin Mary tucked in a niche in a long corridor, he whispered a small prayer for God to spare Olivia’s life.
48
Olivia awoke slowly, intense throbbing in her head. A metallic taste filled her mouth. Her body seemed aflame. Muffled sounds came from somewhere, the voices distant, confusing. Slowly her eyes fluttered open.
A veiled woman hovered over her, mouthing words. Olivia could not hear because of the loud ringing in her ears. The woman seemed familiar, but the fog in Olivia’s mind muddled her thoughts and she could not recognize who the woman was.
What had happened to her? She opened her mouth to speak, but her parched throat burned and no sound came out. An unrelenting ache drummed in her head and she fought back an overwhelming urge to vomit.
The woman spooned cool water into her mouth, which brought instant relief to her throat. Then the blackness returned.
49
Luca refused to stray far from the abbey. At a nearby inn, he took a seat in a corner, and waited for the rain to stop. A fire burned in the large hearth at one end of the room. Townsfolk, whores, minstrels, jugglers, and knights converged there to avoid the rain. The smell of wet wool and unwashed bodies lingered thick and ripe in the smoky room, overpowering the more pleasing aromas of hot stew and ale.
Orphan of the Olive Tree - Historical Romance Saga Page 17
