“Three Fiorentini contingents on the border, sir,” he said, dismounting. Luca took his arm in greeting, but frowned over his words.
“So Donatelli went to them. Reported his daughter is here.”
“It appears that way, sir.”
“You left the others to keep an eye on them?”
“Indeed. They’re at the old watchtower.”
Luca looked to the trees, considering. The old watchtower stood in crumbling remains at the old border—a border they’d reestablished last year when they pushed Firenze back. Three contingents. A hundred and fifty men.
Lord Greco approached, casting him a look asking silent permission to listen in. Luca waved him in closer. “The Fiorentini,” Luca said. “They’ve assembled as we feared. On the border.”
Rodolfo’s dark eyes scanned his and then looked over to Marcello, talking with Ben Betarrini and Father Tomas. He’d just spotted them and they hurried over. Together, all three men entered their circle and were told of what had transpired.
Marcello shook his head and lifted a placating hand. “’Tis only a show of force. They’ll return back to Firenze. Once the girl is in hand on the morrow. They merely wish to remind us of their slumbering might. And press their hand, if we give them just cause.”
“’Tis likely, m’lord,” Luca returned. “But let us err on the side of caution. We must send for reinforcements.”
Marcello met his gaze. “We have done nothing wrong. Only saved the woman. Even the Fiorentini shall see that there’s nothing to quibble over if they have her back.”
“Or they shall concoct a false tale and use it as rationale to escalate to battle again,” Rodolfo said.
Marcello shook his head. “The people are still weary. Just now recovering. Not as many will rise to our call to battle. On either side. Surely they understand that as well as we.”
An alarm bell began clanging, high above them. Their heads rose as one, and two knights came running around the perimeter of the castle, Dario and Patrizio. Luca and Marcello turned, hands on hips, waiting.
Panting, Dario began speaking as soon as they neared. “M’lord, our guest has escaped.”
Luca’s heart skipped a beat. “Signorina Donatelli? How?”
“Through the window, it appears.”
Rodolfo swore under his breath, taking a step away. “Impossible. How long ago?”
“An hour. Mayhap two.”
“There is something else,” said the second, hesitating. He looked around the clearing, as if looking for someone.
Luca resisted the urge to throttle him. “Well? Out with it.”
“Sir,” he said, sending a last, desperate glance around the yard, “Is Lady Evangelia with you?”
This time, Luca stepped forward, tension clamping down on his chest. “Clearly not, man. Are you saying she left the castello?”
The guards shared a miserable look then glanced back to him. “An hour past, Captain.”
Ben Betarrini groaned and turned away, his hands on his face. Marcello, Father Tomas and Luca shared a long look. But Greco was advancing on the guards. “On horseback?” he asked.
“Yes, m’lord. We thought she was coming here, to you. That’s what the lady intimated…”
Rodolfo flung his hand out, dismissing the man’s excuse, then pointed at Patrizio’s chest. “Surely somebody was watching her from above.”
“Indeed, m’lord. She disappeared in the forest, just over there. She appeared to be hunting and—”
“Lady Forelli,” Marcello interrupted. “She is yet inside?”
Dario nodded, a little relief in his eyes that he needn’t report further bad news.
Greco’s eyes went from the castello to the forest and he put his hands on his hips, pacing. “She’s gone after Alessandra,” he breathed, looking to Luca. “Intending to stop her before it was too late, no doubt.”
“After the Fiorentini girl?” Ben asked, dark eyebrows knitting together. “Toward the border?”
Lord Greco simply returned his look until he understood. That was exactly what she had done. The men immediately moved toward their horses, tied to trees at the edge of the clearing. Luca shouted for all knights to assemble and await orders. He shoved down a wave of aggravation. Why would she not come to me? After all this time?
“She must believe she can get to her,” Marcello said, striding between Luca and Ben. “I wager they were concerned that if the Fiorentini scouts saw us all chasing Alessandra down, then the battle would be reignited.”
“But she does not know of the contingents on the border,” Luca said.
“Right. That’s why we shall have to intercept her, just as she intends to intercept Alessandra. Bring them all home.” He paused. “Leave our men behind. The fewer of us there are, the better. If the scouts see our men moving out—”
“Understood,” Luca said.
They quickly mounted and rode over to where Lord Greco was already examining the footprints beneath the high window. He rose. “She hurt her left foot when she landed,” he said, following her trail across the road and into the loamy forest. “See? She’s favoring it here.”
The men—Marcello, Luca, and Ben—followed him, letting him get his bearings. He looked up, into the trees ahead and fingered a broken leaf. Then he mounted. “This way. As suspected, Evangelia is on Alessandra’s trail.”
“Can we catch up to them before they reach the border?” Ben asked.
Rodolfo looked back, regret in his eyes. “I know not.”
~EVANGELIA~
I pounded down an open road, urging my gelding faster, but then had to slow to pick my way through the forests. And I had to entirely avoid the winding riverbed and boulder field that left me exposed. I couldn’t risk the guards at Castello Greco spotting me and riding out to find out what I was up to.
The border was just a mile distant now, across an ancient creek bed that the Nine had defined as the new dividing line between Firenze and Siena, reclaiming territory that had been in Fiorentini hands for two generations. Trees had been felled on either side, widening the line. Castello Forelli sent groups of six men to spend three days at a time up here at the old watchtower, but Gabi and I had only visited once for a celebration, and when we did, we’d been surrounded by fifty of their best warriors.
I shoved down another shiver of fear as I rounded a bend in the road. I wished she could be here, with me. Beside her, I was stronger. I touched the bow on my shoulder. Especially now…
When my mare stumbled a bit, I renewed my focus on the old Roman road, knowing I had to concentrate. Just get through this and—
I saw them, then. Two Fiorentini knights, staring dolefully back at me, a thousand paces away. Scouts. My heart set into a triple-time beat as I muttered a word I’d never say around my future niece or nephew.
Because scouts, often heading into enemy territory and forced to fight for their lives, were some of the fiercest among knights. And they were on two of the most beautiful, strongest horses I’d seen in a while. Can’t outrun them.
I touched my bow again, searching my heart. Surely now...
But I couldn’t. Couldn’t take another life. Rob another mother of her son. A wife of her husband. A child of his father…
The “Survivor” mantra came back to me. Outwit. Outplay. Outlast. Outwit, outplay, outlast, outwit, outplay, outlast…
Panic washed through me as the scouts dug their heels into the flanks of their mounts, charging toward me. I immediately wheeled my own horse to the left and trotted down a trail, into the brush and trees. I had no idea where it led. I only hoped to God that it would provide an escape rather than trap me in.
I didn’t look back, forcing myself to concentrate on the path ahead. Soon it was weaving beside a hill that became a cliff. Maybe an old goat trail, I thought. The forest was thick to my left, and the cliff rose steeply to my right. With limited options, all I could think was hurry, Lia, hurry. Terror at the thought of a scout’s arrow piercing my back surged through
me. I had trouble concentrating, I was so scared.
But even that thought couldn’t make me take my bow from my back, nock an arrow, shoot another man. I was so done with that. So done. I can’t, Lord. I can’t. I can’t I can’t I can’t. Help me.
I pulled up, sure now that I couldn’t outrun them. Outwit… I glanced back down the path behind me. Any sec, the scouts would appear. How could I escape them?
Quickly, I slid to the ground and slapped my gelding’s flank, setting it off running, farther along our path. Then I carefully lifted the thickly leaved branch of a scrub oak and moved into the forest, forcing myself to be careful, slow.
Scouts were good trackers. They themselves had to avoid upsetting rocks, breaking branches, betraying their presence. But the soil was sandy, and my slippers sank so deeply that the dirt came over the edges. There was nothing to do but hurry and hope the branches would cover my tracks. I could hear them now, speaking in low voices. Studying my trail as they rounded the corner. Confident in tracking their prey.
I crouched, pretty well hidden by the scrub oak, closing my eyes and listening, praying the scouts would see nothing but the continued evidence of my mount’s progress forward. Away. Please, think I went on. Go. Follow the tracks of the horse. Get scared I’m getting away.
But they were pausing right where I had. I heard the metallic slide of a sword leaving its sheath and slowly lifted my head to peer through the leaves. I was terrified, because I still couldn’t seem to force myself to slip the bow from my shoulder. A year ago I could’ve taken care of these two in seconds. But that was then.
Flashbacks from Castello Paratore cascaded through my mind, blinding me, deafening me in memory. So many cries of pain, of anger. So much blood. So many dead. Dad, pierced by the sword. Gabi, going over the edge. Mom and me, fighting our way forward, too late, too late. Then the assassins, bent on taking the brotherhood down, one castello at a time. The murdered women and children. Luca and me narrowly escaping a similar fate—
I ducked, just in time, as the knight’s sword came ramming into the scrub oak and stuck in the trunk above my head. Acting on impulse, I shoved against him, as hard as I could, and surprised, his foot caught, and he fell over an exposed root to his back. We both heard the sickening crack of a breaking bone and he screamed.
With him temporarily down, I ran back the way I’d come, as fast as I could, the branches whipping my face, scratching me, until I reached several boulders. I kept running, aware I had about a minute’s lead, the other maybe checking on his buddy. When I was through the boulders, making sure I’d left some clear clues of my passing, I circled around, slipping between them. Hearing him come now, I slid the dagger from my waistband.
I held my breath, knowing he was just a foot away. I saw a pebble skitter past, kicked from his boot. Any second…
As soon as he was past, I leaped onto his back, pulling the dagger to his neck. “Do you know who I am?” I said in the lowest, most menacing voice I could muster.
“I am fairly certain,” he said, deadly still, hands up.
“Then you know I shall not hesitate to use this,” I grit out. “Drop your sword.” He didn’t know I was struggling with some sort of weird PTSD. And I figured it was sorta vital for me to keep him from finding out.
The sword clattered to the ground and I smiled a little. Outwit.
“Why not kill me now, She-Wolf?” he asked, half-afraid, half-infuriated.
“Because I intend to take you back to Lord Forelli and he shall find out why you are scouting on Sienese land. That is not a part of our treaty agreement.”
“The treaty is dead,” he spat. “When you kidnapped Signorina Donatelli—”
“That’s utter nonsense,” I growled and slid off of him, my dagger still at his throat. “Lie down on your belly.”
Reluctantly, he did as I asked and I pulled his wrists together behind him, casting a worried glance down the path behind us. His companion was silent, which scared me. If I was lucky, he’d passed out from the pain. If I wasn’t…
I was tying his hands when he twisted, trying to buck me off his back. I went flying, but I was up in a flash, the dagger to his throat. “Do not attempt that again,” I spat, willing him to see the fury in my eyes. “Now lie down.”
His lip curling, he did as I asked and I completed my task, looking down the path and around the woods again, freaked his partner was sneaking up on me.
“I shall track you down and slice your pretty head from your body,” said the scout, as I wound the rope around his ankles, hoping to really leave him stuck. I tied him up so tight, his fingers were turning blue. “Then I shall take your head to Firenze and we shall celebrate for days.”
“That sounds unpleasant,” I muttered benignly, already leaving him behind, my dagger out. I bent and grabbed hold of a grapefruit size rock in my left hand, and crept down the path, eyes open wide, ears pounding with my own pulse. Maybe the dude was waiting for me around a tree, a rock, as I had awaited his companion…
But then I saw him, pretty close to where I’d left him. The bone had pierced through his leggings, white and splintered among blood. I winced in spite of myself as he moaned, gripping a sword.
“Let go of that, and I will assist you,” I said, gesturing toward the sword.
“You’re mad,” he spat.
“Agreed. No woman with her wits about her would offer to aid you. Now do as I say.”
His chest heaved, and his face paled. He had clearly lost a lot of blood. Maybe the bone had pierced an artery or something.
“Trust me. I shall not kill you. I seek only to be on my way, unhindered. Truly, I could walk around you and be away from you, could I not?”
“You would allow me, a Fiorentini, to live?” he asked, his eyes narrowing.
“I allowed your companion the same,” I said, glancing over my shoulder.
He let his head drop back to the earth, panting, sweating now. Then with a cry of frustration, he dropped his sword and watched me approach with wary eyes.
I paused, just out of his reach, and crouched at his side, studying his wound. I looked to his eyes. “You shall bleed to death if I do nothing. This will hurt you more than I,” I said, then I whacked him upside the head with my rock. I felt for a pulse, hoping I hadn’t killed him. He was out, but not gone. Outlast.
I took my dagger and ripped open his legging. It was bad, really bad. The best I could do for him, and still have a chance at finding Alessandra, was to stop the bleeding. He’d likely lose his leg, in time. But he’d have a better chance of living. I cut a strip from his tunic and then tied it tight around his upper thigh, using a stick, as Mom had taught me, to tighten the tourniquet.
Then I ran up the rest of the path, to the one that edged the cliff above me. I looked one way and then the other. Now what? I had no horse. I didn’t know for certain where I was. So I began climbing. If I could get high enough, I could determine where I was. Maybe spot Alessandra. And any other enemy scouts.
I scrambled upward, choosing my handholds and nooks for my toes, while struggling with my skirts. None of the Nike ads ever showed climbers in medieval gowns. For good reason.
Ten minutes later, I reached the top, crouched and moved through the brush and scrubby trees that spread across the ridge. And froze.
Below, across the babbling creek, were a ton of Fiorentini knights. Some of them sparring. Others gathering to talk and laugh. Still more, shooting targets. It looked like a scene at Castello Forelli. Except five-times that many men. Five-times that many…
I gotta warn the guys. They were here! Ready to attack. Tomorrow, tomorrow if I didn’t get Alessandra back to them.
But then I knew our own scouts would’ve seen them by now. Warned Marcello and Luca.
“So they’re coming,” I whispered, half-ecstatic at the thought and half-freaked. Because when our guys found me here, so nearly stumbling into the enemy’s hands, they’d be mad. So. Mad.
I edged backward, further into the prot
ective shrubs again. On the other side, I set off, hunched over, down the ridge, back toward the road. Now that I knew where I was, I knew there was a scouting path, down at the end. Maybe that’s what the other scouts had been intent on doing—taking down anyone who might spot their assembling forces.
A minute later, I heard a woman’s cry. I paused, cocked my head, listening, and then crept through the brush again. I’d rounded a bend, the Fiorentini troops completely hidden from view here, but I dropped down and army-crawled forward, wincing as I felt the fine embroidery of my gown snag and tear. There goes another dress…
Cautiously, I peered over the edge of the cliff. Four knights were surrounding Alessandra, who limped over to them. She seemed to collapse, and one lifted her in his arms. The other three immediately took a protective stance around them, swords drawn, warily watching the length of the creek as they edged back.
Oh no. I’m too late! Too late! Outplayed…
Two nobles emerged from the forest, striding toward them. It was then I saw the flash of color deep between the trees—a tent.
Why were they so far away from the rest of their knights? Was it not foolish, dangerous even?
But then I saw him. Barbato.
The little, evil lord who’d tried to marry Gabi off to Greco, effectively making her Fiorentini. Using her. If he was here…
Then something really sneaky was about to go down.
I watched as the noblemen greeted Alessandra, smiles wide. But as soon as the knight carrying her was past them, their smiles faded and they joined the others in watching the opposite bank of the creek, as well as down the creek, where their men were. They scurried backward, heading toward the tent.
“Something’s off,” I whispered to myself. They were acting weird. Why hide her?
Then it happened. When the others were hidden by the forest canopy, and I could barely see them, the knight in the center turned on his comrades. Swiftly, he rammed his sword through the neck of the man at his side, yanked it out and turned to chop the head off the other. I stared, stunned, and choked, vomit rising in the back of my throat.
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