I shook my head in confusion, trying to sort out their crazy politics, as he led me to his horse. Then I was seriously confused; where was my horse? But then he bent and lifted me to sit behind his saddle and gently untied the strips from my dress. He raised one eyebrow in warning. “You’ve already caught Paratore’s eye. Let’s not give him any other fodder for his dreams, shall we?”
My mouth fell open a little at that. I wanted to protest. Claim my own mount. But he seemed to not only be saying that Paratore thought I was attractive…but that he considered me Dream Material too. The maid’s words of warning that morning echoed through my mind. “Take care, m’lady. You already draw Lord Marcello’s eye.…”
Or was he simply referring to the fact that the man apparently had his mind in the gutter? I sighed and turned toward his broad back as he mounted, trying to find a secure seat on the horse’s rump by bringing my right leg slightly up beneath the skirt and tentatively wrapping my arms around his torso.
I tightened my grip as he grabbed the reins and turned his horse around. He was strong, with not an ounce of fat on him. I could feel muscle beneath his tunic. He smelled of wood fire and leather and earth and sweat. All…man. I shoved down a sudden, silly, stupid, insufferable shiver, of all things, and focused on the men in front of him, again atop their own steeds, my horse tied to the back of Luca’s. They openly gaped at me, behind Marcello.
Paratore’s men had receded into the wood, fifty feet off, watching us. Making sure we were leaving as promised, I guessed.
Luca frowned at Marcello. “M’lord, unless you wish for tongues to wag, mayhap it’s best she ride with me.”
“Nay. She rides with me. At least until we are out of these woods.”
Luca’s face eased, and I steeled myself as Marcello moved his horse into a light trot. I glanced back at Paratore, searching his face. He was hurting, curious, but that was all I could read in his eyes. If he had Lia, would he not have said something? Taunted us with it?
In twenty minutes, we were out of the woods and at a crossroads, presumably leading to either Siena and Firenze—the Italians’ name for Florence. Marcello dismounted and then raised his hands to my waist, lifting me down. I kept my eyes averted, for some reason feeling suddenly shy. Maybe it was because his men stared at us.
“We’re out of Paratore territory,” he explained as he took my hand and led me to my own horse. I saw that one of his men, riding behind us, had retrieved the cursed sidesaddle from its stash in the forest and had once again firmly settled it atop my gelding.
Marcello gave me a small smile and handed me a leather band. “At least bind your hair behind you,” he said lowly. “It won’t do for the women of the castello to see you riding through the gates, hair loose as a maid’s on her wedding day. You’ll never find a moment’s peace. Nor shall I.”
I looked up into his warm eyes, searching for a glimpse of judgment. There was none. Only warning. And a tinge of…admiration.
I took the band from his fingers. He lifted me to the stupid sidesaddle and helped me lodge my feet—now totally filthy, I saw with a grimace—into the hidden stirrups. He handed me the reins with one more lingering look. Our fingers touched briefly, and heat seared my cheeks. He smiled ever so slightly—okay, now what was that about?—and then returned to his own horse.
I shook my head a little, staring at the hoofprints in the sandy soil. I finally meet a guy who’s interesting, and who seems to have a half-interest in me, and it is TOTALLY the wrong time and place. I glanced up at the sky. If You’re out there, God, this is COMPLETELY unfair.
The men were falling back into line, preparing to set off, and I did the same. But my eyes kept crawling back to Marcello. Do not fall for him, Gabi. It is impossible. Impossible! Wrong, on so many levels.
I could see my friend Keisha back home in the States giving me the oh-no-you-didn’t finger wave and shaking her frizzy head. I always tried to do it, but could never pull it off in quite the same way.
Keisha. Hannah. Steph. Images of my friends’ faces from home flashed through my mind, making me take a sharp intake of breath. I had to get back. To my own time. To my family. To my friends.
But first I had to find Lia. Make sure she wasn’t trapped here too. We had to return home…together.
I cleared my throat. “Sir Marcello?”
He glanced back at me.
“Were we to stop in town? Inquire to see if anyone has seen my sister? Or my mother?”
He looked at me for a long moment, his eyebrows lowering, and then his eyes quickly scanned his men whose expressions said I’d stepped out of bounds. Apparently people didn’t ask a young lord his plans. Ridiculous! I was merely asking a logical question.
“We will inquire on the morrow, Lady Betarrini. I believe we’ve done enough searching for one day.”
“But—”
He raised an imperious hand toward me and frowned.
I frowned too, clamping my mouth shut.
So. I guess This Conversation Is Over.
He turned and took off for home, not looking back.
Well, fine, then. I guess there isn’t anything between us after all. Never mind! I thought, shooting arrowed glances at his broad back.
We rode into the courtyard late that afternoon, weary, dirty, defeated. I knew the men left thinking they might be bringing home another contender for Belle of the Courtyard, and coming home empty was just, well…lame. They looked at me as if I might be making the whole story up of some blonde, beautiful sister lost in the woods. By and large, these men were far more civilized than boys back at home at Boulder High. They had the courtesy to avert their gazes—but not before I caught enough of a glimpse to figure it out.
I took a sponge bath in my room, pulled on a fresh gown of Lady Forelli’s—with the aid of Giacinta—and then made it through supper, speaking to no one.
Conversation went on all about me. Boisterous tales, low-toned jokes, whispered secrets. But no one spoke to me.
Was it because of my actions today? I felt the echoes of shame, regret, but then shoved them away as fast as I shoved meat and porridge into my mouth, then waited for a passably polite moment to excuse myself. I had done what I had to do. You made the best choice you could at the time, my mother said to me in my head. It was something she always said. Not that charging on ahead, without the boys, had been my best idea.
I wished she were here. Here to tell me how to act, what to say. She was always so good at negotiating tough, new situations. She waded in as I longed to do, waist-deep, figuring it out as she went. How did she do that?
I leaned back from the table, envisioning my mother, her hair as straight and blonde as my sister’s, nose to nose with the Italian archeology officials. She never backed down. Never. She always knew where she was going, and how she was going to get there. How did she know that?
For the first time, I fully wondered what it would be like to be my mother, a Dane in an Italian’s world. When she met my father, she barely even spoke the language. They had conversed in Latin. That’s love, they liked to say, sharing a secret glance. My sister and I always stared wide-eyed at each other when they did that, with a look that said Serious Geek Alert.
I smiled at the memory.
“Happy thought, m’lady?” asked Luca, leaning toward me for the first time, regarding me as he popped a piece of bread into his mouth.
“Indeed,” I returned. “I was thinking of my family.” I forced a smile, but I’m certain that he saw the flash of sorrow in my eyes. I blinked rapidly. Was I tearing up again? “Excuse me,” I said, rising. I had to get out of there.
Awkwardly, all the men at the table rose with me.
I paused and looked around, then back to my half-eaten meal. “Forgive me. I am quite exhausted. I must…retire.” My eyes met Marcello’s. His brow knit together.
&nbs
p; “M’lady,” he said with a slight nod of dismissal, opening the door for my escape.
Everyone else echoed his farewell.
I dared not look at any of them.
I practically ran across the courtyard, gasping for breath and giving in to the tears only when I had reached the safety of my room. I lifted a hand to my forehead, lost in thought. What if I couldn’t get back? What if Lia hadn’t come through with me? What if I was alone here, forever, on my own to find my way?
I sank down, my back against the door, sobbing like a little kid.
Seriously. I hadn’t cried that hard in a long time.
When I finally looked up, my sleeves were wet from wiping my eyes and nose. I wasn’t one of those pretty criers, the type that gets a little pink in the cheeks, and their eyes all wide and bright. No, I got the swelling, bloodshot eyes, the dripping nose that made me a candidate for a Nyquil commercial. That was me. Puurty.
Lia was a pretty crier. I always half-teased her, saying I hated her for it. Was that what she’d remember of me? Saying mean things? Did she miss me, too? Did she even know I was gone?
I clenched my temples between the palms of my hands, pressing as if I might be able to squeeze in some clear thinking. What was I to do? What?
I glanced at the crucifix, sighed, and then rose. No, this was up to me. I’d gotten myself into this. I had to get myself out.
The tombs.
My portal.
It was the only way out. Back to Lia. Back to my mom. Back to reality.
Even if I had to get there alone.
CHAPTER 6
I thought about writing the Forellis a note, explaining my disappearance into the night and thanking them for their assistance, but in the end, the idea of hunting down quill and ink and some sort of paper just made it seem like a much too time-consuming task. Best to get to the tombs, make the jump back in time, and let them forget about me.
There was only one thing I had to do before I made my escape. I had to secure a weapon. There was no way I was going out into those woods without a sword to defend myself.
In the Great Hall, where the castle dined, an armory stood to one side. If I remembered right, it wasn’t locked. But getting through the courtyard, in and out of the hall, avoiding one of the bazillion knights that might be loitering about—that would take some doing. Oh, and then I had to find my way out of an impenetrable fortress. Perfect.
I shook my head.
It didn’t matter. I just needed to try. I could only try.
So I set out, quietly shutting the door behind me. At the end of the corridor, on a peg beside the stairwell that ran up one turret, was a coil of rope. It extended upward, to a hook, where the servants could raise and lower a platform that held a few more candles to light the corridor. I wondered if it was long enough to reach partway down the wall. A plan hatched in my mind.
My heart was hammering away in my chest as I came out into the courtyard. My fear and guilt made me angry. I intended only to gain my freedom, be on my way! So what did I have to feel guilty about? The Forellis were far better off without me complicating their lives. They’d probably be relieved to not have to figure me or my future out. I knew at least one person would certainly be happy to discover I’d disappeared as fast as I had shown up—Lady Rossi.
I passed two knights who appeared to be on guard duty. They nodded at me but said nothing. I eased open the Great Hall door and looked around, seeing nothing but empty chairs and the soft, flickering light from a few candles left lit in the center of each table. The trenchers and food and goblets and tablecloths had all been cleared, leaving the tables bare.
I grabbed a candle and tiptoed over to the armory, wincing when the door creaked on its hinge. Slowly, I dared to look over my shoulder, expecting to see men charging over to me, demanding to know what I was up to. But no one appeared in the deeply shadowed hall.
I lifted my candle up. Here, there were indeed many weapons. Swords of varying lengths; longbows and arrows; axes; and horrible, spiky balls-on-chain thingies. I shivered at the thought of Paratore’s hulking knight coming after me with one of those. Shoving away my fear, I hurried to a wall and pulled the shortest sword down. It was ten pounds lighter than the one I hefted earlier, and I moved it about with ease. This, this I might be able to actually use. I moved over to a shelf and pulled out a double sheath on a long, leather strap. It was perfect. In a bit I had it wrapped across my chest and buckled at the waist. In the front pocket sheathed a dagger with a seven-inch blade. In the back stowed my broadsword.
As soon as I felt the weight of the weapons, my heart began to slow its frantic pace. I felt stronger, safer. I reached back, practicing my pull a couple times to get a sense of how long it would take to bring it forward, to ward off an attack. I looked down and saw that the dagger could be positioned the opposite way, too. I switched it around, and now I could simultaneously pull the dagger out with my left hand and the sword with my right.
Oh yeah, I thought with a grin and a nod. You don’t wanna take me on, Paratore. Don’t get between me and my way home. I don’t care if you’re a prince. Don’t mess with me!
I pulled a cape over my shoulders and had just picked up the candle when Luca appeared in the doorway.
His eyes widened in surprise. “Lady Betarrini?”
“Oh, Luca!” I said, tightening my fist around the edges of my cape in front of me. “You frightened me.” I tried to give him my most charming smile.
“Wh-what are you doing in there?”
“I think I’m a bit turned around,” I confessed. “I was in search of the kitchen, hoping to get a…drink.”
“A drink? Why not send a servant?”
“It’s late. I didn’t wish to be a bother. Might you show me where to go?” I opened my eyes wide, hoping they said innocence and not liar, liar, pants on fire.
He seemed to buy it. “Of course. It’s this way, in back.” He offered his arm, and I took it.
“Have you taken a chill, m’lady?”
“A chill?” I asked blankly.
“Yes, you’ve donned a cape, on one of the warmest evenings of the summer.”
I kept my eyes straight ahead. This was Marcello’s right-hand man. No idiot.
“Mayhap I’m coming down with the chills,” I said, lifting my hand from his arm and to my head.
That seemed to stop his conjecture. “Oh, I hope not. Let’s fetch you a cup of mulled wine and get you straight to bed. Most likely you’re overwrought. You’ve endured much today.”
“You’re probably right,” I said.
We moved down through a wide hall and into a massive kitchen, still full of the odors of cooling meat and fresh-baked bread. Cook looked up in surprise at us as she wiped her hands on a cloth. “Can I be of aid, m’lady, m’lord?”
“The lady is in need of something warm to drink,” Luca said.
“Right away, right away,” she murmured. She took a crockery mug with no handles from a shelf, then went to the wide stone oven where a fire still crackled and embers glowed. She dipped a ladle into a kettle at the edge and poured the steaming liquid into a cup, then waddled back over to us.
“Do you have need of anything else, m’lady? You hardly touched your supper. Mayhap some bread? There’s some left from the meal.”
It would be wise to take a little food on the road with me, I realized. It might take hours to find the tombs in the dark, if I didn’t discover just the right path. “Some bread would be wonderful, Cook.”
She smiled, pleased to have guessed at my need, and went to wrap a small, brown loaf in a cloth. “Anything else?”
“No. Thank you. For everything.”
I saw her frown a little at that, and realized I sounded as if I were saying farewell. I lifted the cup. Maybe that would explain the everything.
> “Sleep well, m’lady.”
“Thank you.”
Luca walked with me back through the Great Hall.
“Well,” I said. “I believe I can make it back to my room and not get lost again.”
“I’ll see you across the courtyard,” he said, his eyes slightly troubled. He was taking in the bead of sweat on my brow. Probably worrying that I really was ill. But that blasted kitchen had been sweltering. I longed to ditch the cape, but couldn’t, for obvious reasons. If he saw my weapons…
We moved across the cobblestones and reached the corridor hallway. “All right,” I said with a grin. “I know I can make it from here.”
“Are you certain, m’lady?” he asked, his worry turning to teasing.
“Quite. Good night, Sir Luca.”
“Good night, m’lady,” he said. “I hope that morning finds you feeling much better.”
“As do I.” I eased through the doorway and ignored his curious expression. He knew something was up. “Good night,” I said again, closing the door, like a girl on her first date with a boy who didn’t want to leave without a kiss. I put my back to it and closed my eyes, feeling the length of the broadsword down my spine.
I listened, and after a moment, heard his soft leather boots take the first few steps away. I let out a big breath of relief and looked to the candle and rope. On closer inspection, it wasn’t nearly long enough to scale down a castle wall. But then I saw another, on the other end. Its candle simply wasn’t lit.
I hurriedly fetched both lengths of rope, leaving the candle platforms neatly to one side of the corridor—hoping it looked as if a servant were merely servicing them—then tied the ends together. Mom had grown up sailing and delighted in teaching us the ten knots she remembered. Over and under and through, bippety, boppety, boo, I remembered her chanting to us as little girls.
The knot worked now as it had then. I pulled on either end. It would hold.
I’m on my way, Mom. I’m comin’ home.
Waterfall Page 7
