I had to find my way through this. To get better. So if I ever was in that situation, I could save Luca. Or Gabi. Or Marcello. Or anyone else in the broader “Clan Forelli.”
“Some She-Wolf you turned out to be,” I muttered to myself. I padded over to the window and opened the shutter latch, pushing them outward. The faint pink of sunrise teased the sky, and never had I been so glad a night was over.
Nor feared the morning more.
Would Luca return to Castello Forelli with Alessandra in hand? Would the knights back off, with no reason to attack? Even now, the additional contingents of knights from Siena should be riding in, ready to join Marcello’s men and turn away those of the north. But if they did not, Luca would be in the center of it all…
Agitated, I turned and threw on an older blue gown and dragged a horsehair brush through my hair, pinning it into a quick knot. I jammed my feet into tapestry slippers and went to the door, pulling it open so quickly that Otello jumped in surprise, quickly wiping away a trail of drool and blinking heavy lids. He’d obviously been sleeping against the wall.
“Buon giorno, Otello,” I said with a small grin as the big man abruptly settled back into guard stance.
“Buon giorno, m’lady,” he said. I was a few steps away before he began to trail me. “Up early this morning, are you not?”
“Indeed. Thoughts of our men meeting the Fiorentini…” I paused. “I thought it best I commit them to God’s care rather than toss and turn, fretting.” I turned left, heading toward the small palazzo chapel.
“Most wise of you, m’lady,” said the man, following behind me.
“Wise or desperate,” I muttered in English. I turned another corner and saw there were candles lit along this hallway, as well as in the chapel. Peeking in the door, I saw Father Tomas, kneeling, his head in his hands, praying.
Tentatively, I entered. And within a few steps he lifted his head, smiling when he saw me. “Lady Evangelia,” he said. “Please.” He gestured toward the kneeling rail beside him.
Feeling awkward, I took it. More than a year I’d been here—been here for good—and the priest and I had had a few conversations about faith. And while I attended daily mass with the rest of the castello—it was expected with a chaplain about, and actually, I’d come to kinda like the ritual of it—I’d not really pressed into it. That’s what Father Tomas had told me once. God is with you, m’lady. But until you press into what that means for you, it will mean little at all.
“Are you in need of prayer, m’lady?” he asked gently, after we’d knelt there, side by side, for several minutes.
“I…I am not certain what I am in need of,” I said. “I feel…at odds. Fearful. Wound up, here,” I said, gesturing toward my belly. “Like wool wound too tightly around a spool to ever unwind again.”
“Ahh,” he said. He was as round-faced as my guard, who’d settled into keeping watch over me from outside the chapel door. The silly haircut he’d kept up—even though excommunicated from his order—only made its shape more pronounced. But his eyes were kind. And I knew he’d done much to save my sister, as well as try and aid Fortino as he languished on his deathbed. I trusted him.
He peered at me a moment and then looked up to the crucifix above the tiny altar. He stared at it, so I did too. Then he bent his head, staring at the wood planks. “’Tis fear that entraps you so,” he said gently.
“Fear?”
“Fear. This is what God has told me.” He looked me in the eye. “What do you fear?”
I cocked my head, suddenly wishing I could walk out. This wasn’t really what I’d come here for—
“M’lady?”
“I know not,” I said, dodging him.
“Why the untruth? Why do you fear telling me what you fear?”
There was no malice in his tone, no judgment. Only care.
“Very well,” I said with a heavy sigh. “I fear that I shall never be able to shoot an arrow again, while I watch those I love cut down.”
“Ahh, yes,” he said, nodding, his hands clasped before his mouth. He tapped his lips with his knuckles, thinking. “Fear, of course, is not of the Lord. ‘Tis of his nemesis.”
I frowned in confusion.
“Other than fearing the Lord, respecting him, he is not a God of fear.” Tomas said. “‘Tis the enemy who preys upon our tendencies toward it.”
“So…” I said slowly, “I’m in need of an exorcism?”
He laughed, a heartening, warm sound. “Nay, m’lady. Nay. But you are in need of a reminder of the God you serve. He is almighty. Beyond compare. Who can be against him?”
Tomas let that sink in a moment, then, “Consider how his enemy has tied your hands. If you cannot defend those you love, it may be he has more opportunity to take them down, yes?”
I nodded.
He watched me a moment. “Forgive me, m’lady. I know you are the gentler sex, and you have seen far more bloodshed than any woman is meant to see. But God has placed you here for a reason. For such a time as this. And to allow the enemy to bind you…” He shook his head.
“There were so many,” I said with a shake of my head. “So many sons and brothers and husbands and fathers and uncles…” My voice cracked, remembering, remembering. So many I had killed.
He was silent a moment, then laid a warm, broad hand on my shoulder. “’Tis a burden for certain,” he said. “You carry a warrior’s weight. But consider this, m’lady. If you had not taken those lives, they would have done all they could to take down those around you. Other knights of Castello Forelli or Siena. Sons and brothers and husbands and fathers and uncles.” He shook his head and pulled his hand away. “Nay, war is not what God had in mind when he breathed Eden into existence. But we’ve wandered far from Eden, m’lady. Far from it. And we make our way through our days, the best we can. Fighting for good, not evil. Do you believe the Sienese or Lord Marcello or Sir Luca to be evil?”
I shook my head. “Of course not.”
“Do you believe they battle for good, righteous causes?”
I thought about that. Since we’d returned, Marcello and Luca seemed content to keep the peace. To defend. Now that they’d reclaimed the land stolen decades ago and reestablished the old border... “Yes. I believe they fight for the right reasons.”
He peered at me. “M’lady, I pray you can grow old in the gentle ways of women. But there is a reason the evil one has chosen to bind you,” he whispered. “You and your sister have great power. The She-Wolves play handsomely to the crowds,” he said with a smile. “But it is not mere legend. ‘Tis truth. Fact,” he said, a ferocity entering his tone. “And while you’ve had a time to hibernate, to heal, now you must prepare yourself to fight alongside your brothers, if called upon. Press into the One who calls you. He shall show you the way.”
He stared at me for a long moment, as if willing me to accept it, then closed his eyes and began a long prayer, shoulder to shoulder with me. I closed my eyes too, leaning my forehead on my hands. I only remembered a little Latin, so I couldn’t really follow it. But it wasn’t the words that really hit me. It was the feeling of release that gradually stole over me.
An unwinding of the wool.
Freedom.
***
“I demand you grant my daughter freedom!” Signore Donatelli shouted up to the guards on Castello Forelli’s walls, as dawn tinged the sky pink.
“Anything?” Marcello mouthed upward to the guards above him, on the wall. They each looked to the men at their other side, and then turned back to Marcello, with a shake of the head.
Luca, Rodolfo, Marcello groaned inwardly, internally looking over the land between here and the border. Where are you? What could have waylaid them? Were they lost? Captured? He paused. “Open the gates,” he said to the men. Donatelli and his friend had arrived with but twelve Fiorentini knights. The others awaited word from them, just across the border.
“Lord Forelli!” boomed Signore Donatelli’s big companion from outside. “Give us th
e girl, and we shall depart!”
“She is not quite ready to depart,” Marcello said, as the gates opened between them. “If you would give us but another day or two—”
“No more time!” cried Signore Donatelli. “You swore upon your life—”
Marcello strode forward, four knights flanking him. “I swore upon my life that she would be delivered to you.” He took a deep breath. “And it was my sole intention to do so—”
He glanced up as the big man lunged toward him, but two of his men stood in his way. Then he looked to Alessandra’s father, lifting his hands. “Be at peace. She’s well. At least she was. She made a remarkable recovery. And then a day past, she decided to make her own way home.”
The older man’s mouth dropped open. “She ran from you?” His look hardened. “What sort of ill treatment had she received to do such a thing?”
“She received no ill treatment,” Marcello said. “We treated her as a guest. She wished to return to you, but I told her she had to wait until today, so that I could hand her over as promised.” He stepped toward the man. “I gave you my word, upon my life. And I am a man of my word,” he said fiercely.
The man turned partially away, hand on his head. “The girl can be headstrong…”
“Signore,” said his big companion, struggling against the Fiorentini knights, “We must search the man’s castle and be certain she is not held prisoner within.”
Marcello shook his head. “Please,” he said, gesturing backward. “Search it from top to bottom. The girl is fiercely for the Fiorentini, and headstrong. And I, truth be told, am eager to be done with her. But she is no longer here.”
Both men shared a long look, considering his words. Apparently it squared with what they knew of the young woman.
“So where is she now?” asked her father, suddenly looking more drawn and old.
“I know not,” Marcello said. It would not do to tell them they’d sent men to fetch her from across the border.
A man whistled from atop the wall. “Sir Luca, on his way!” crowed the guard.
“Lord Greco too! Two more, accompanying them.”
“The girl?” Marcello called up in agitation.
The guard frowned and shook his head. “No one in a gown, m’lord.”
Signore Donatelli drew his sword, as did the Fiorentini knights behind him.
“Hold!” Marcello yelled, lifting his hands, keeping his own men from drawing. He stepped toward the older man. “We are not your foes,” he said. “Do you not see? They are using your daughter as rationale to strike against us!”
“I called them here,” the man said in agitation, waving behind him. “You Sienese cannot be trusted. I should never have left Alessandra in your hands.”
Another whistle. “Fiorentini nobleman with a flag, m’lord!” called the guard.
Marcello continued to stare at Signore Donatelli. “I gave you my word. Your daughter was safe with us. Until she decided to leave the keep.”
As the newcomers arrived, the entire company turned to watch.
“Papa!” Alessandra cried. She was in front of Rodolfo, wearing men’s clothes, and in shocking condition. Hair shorn, bruising around one cheek. A split lip. And filthy.
“Al-Alessandra?” said the man, stumbling toward her. Rodolfo dismounted and moved to help her down, but she’d already slid off. She limped toward her father. She had no shoes. Her hands and feet were caked with blood and dirt…
Marcello groaned. Anyone might judge Castello Forelli if…
The Fiorentini stepped forward as Alessandra and her father embraced.
Marcello growled a command and his men drew their swords too. More came through the gate and then the beam slammed back into place. For better or worse, this initial battle would take place outside the castello, just as he’d directed his men.
Rodolfo and Luca came up to him and then he saw Celso. His mouth dropped open. “Celso? Celso Costa?” Marcello hadn’t seen Celso for ten years or more. They clasped arms and grinned at each other.
“There you see, evidence of a traitor within my own ranks,” Lord Barbato said as he rode up, flanked by four men and Lord Foraboschi. He gestured toward Celso and Marcello. “How long had you planned this duplicity, Lord Forelli?”
Marcello let out a humorless laugh and cast a questioning look toward Greco and Celso. “Do you speak of Celso? I had no idea he was in your employ.”
“They did not entice me to anything, m’lord,” Celso said. “But I could not stand by and watch you—”
“Silence!” cried Barbato, his face reddening. “I see they managed to seize the girl again.” He glanced to Signore Donatelli. “I regret, sir, that we could not rescue your daughter before she was so savagely abused.”
“What nonsense is this?” Marcello cried. “She did not leave our household as such…” he said, gesturing to Alessandra. “Any abuse she suffered was in your own men’s hands!”
The Fiorentini lord groaned and grimaced as if it were a tall tale. “Sadly, the girl has been ruined,” Lord Barbato said. “Raped repeatedly.”
“’Tis a falsehood!” Alessandra cried. “Papa, he was the one who beat me! He was the one who sent—”
“Poor child,” Barbato interrupted, throwing up his hands. “Even her mind is gone.”
“’Tis a falsehood!” she cried again, advancing toward him as if she intended to tear him from his horse. Knights closed in to block her way, and Marcello nodded to three men to protect Alessandra, trying to sort out exactly what had transpired.
“I am yet pure!” Alessandra cried, her father now holding her back. “But ‘twas not Lord Barbato’s intention,” she spat out. “He wanted me ruined, so that he might blame it on the Sienese! And if it weren’t for the only honorable man in his service, Celso…it would have been done as he ordered.” Tears ran down her face.
Marcello glanced to his old friend and the man gave him a slow nod.
Barbato smiled, as if incredulous. “The girl is as mad as she is ruined. No man shall ever have her. Give her to us. We shall see her to a nunnery where she will be looked after. But then prepare yourselves for the wrath of Firenze to fall upon you. Already, we are at work, ferreting out any other sleeping brothers.” He stared hard at Celso. “You are one of them, are you not? You’ve kept it covered for years, but you too, must bear the mark shared by the Forellis and Greco.”
Marcello’s eyes narrowed.
“He intends to find and kill the others!” Alessandra said, struggling out of her father’s attempt to set her behind him, silence her. “Every one of the brotherhood who yet live, as well as every living family member! And Lady Gabriella and—”
“Witness it, Lord Forelli,” Barbato said with a smile. “This is what complete and utter madness looks like. See what your abuse has wrought?”
Her father took a step away from her. “I am too late. My daughter is lost to me.”
Alessandra whirled. “Nay! Papa, nay! Do you not see? Have you not heard? We fight for the Fiorentini, but these man…these men are evil! We do not wish to side with them. Lord Barbato has abused me. Attempted to use me in the most foul, despicable ways…”
She grasped hold of his hand, but he shook her off, as if she were unclean.
“I cannot find a husband for you. Not now. And you betray our people with your words, with your disrespect to Lord Barbato. You are not my daughter.” He shook his head, his face etched in deep lines of grief and disbelief, as if he were trying to make out Alessandra beneath a mask.
The nobleman nodded soberly, pretending to share Signore Donatelli’s pain. “It is an unfair hand you have been dealt,” he said. “Your service shall not be forgotten. And I shall see to Alessandra’s welfare myself.”
She whipped her head around in horror. Then she began to tremble, violently.
“M’lord,” Greco whispered, asking permission to go to her.
“Hold,” Marcello whispered back. She must decide. Now. Decide who she was for, forever more.
Only she could make this decision. There would be no turning back.
“Papa,” she cried out, as he turned and walked toward his horse, his shoulders hunched in sorrow. He did not turn back around.
“Fear not, sweet girl,” Lord Barbato said. “You are in my care now.” He flicked two fingers in her direction, telling the knight to bring her.
“Nay,” she said numbly, only making a half-effort to free herself of the Fiorentini knight’s grasp upon her arm, looking confused, still glancing over her shoulder toward her father. The knight dragged her toward Lord Barbato, and her eyes widened in terror. “Nay!” she screamed.
Celso took a step forward but Marcello held up his hand. “Hold,” he said lowly. “This must be her choice alone.”
She screamed again when Lord Barbato grabbed hold of her wrist, preparing to lift her before him on his steed. She fought, dropping and dragging her nails down her captor’s arm, drawing blood. Then she turned, her big, brown eyes searching the men beside Marcello, settling on Rodolfo.
“M’lord!” she beseeched him.
“Go,” Marcello grunted.
Then he drew his sword and followed Rodolfo into the fight.
Alessandra stood there as Rodolfo pulled her farther away, toward safety, as the Fiorentini skirmished briefly with the Sienese, and then retreated. Two took off on a separate path, no doubt bent on alerting the rest of the troops on the border. But Alessandra could only watch her father looking sorrowfully over his shoulder at her, as if she were a mere ghost. Dead to him, already.
“Papa!” she cried, reaching out.
But when he turned away, disappearing among the oak and brush, she fell to her knees, weeping. How could he not believe her? Turn his back on her?
It hurt worse than the injuries she’d suffered at Barbato’s hands.
The woods became eerily silent as the last of the Fiorentini disappeared, and Castello Forelli’s men sheathed their swords.
“It won’t be long,” Lord Forelli growled. “Get her inside the gates.”
“Yes, m’lord,” Rodolfo said. He didn’t pause as he turned to her. Didn’t inquire of her needs. Simply picked her up and carried her inside the castello, even as she wept, his tunic soon growing damp with her tears. The gates banged shut behind her, and the crossbeam slid back into place with a metallic clang that echoed in her head. She thought she might forever carry the sound of it with the memory of when her life as a Fiorentini ended.
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