Another hundred yards and Caterina heard a distinctly human noise.
A moan.
Yes, it was definitely a woman’s moan. Caterina froze in place. What if she saw more than she wanted to see?
She’d come this far. The mystery tugged at her chest. Who was this man that Fiametta risked her virtue to see?
Another moan.
Did Fiametta still have her virtue?
Caterina took another step, until only a wall of leaves blocked the brook. She heard the rustle of fabric and a low giggle. Someone was definitely on the other side—two people, from the sound of it.
Caterina inched forward and pulled back a branch. She peeked around the leaves, hoping the dark concealed her spying.
There was the brook, right where she’d expected it. And a dozen yards away, at the edge of the water, a couple stood, their arms entwined. The man’s back was toward her, but Caterina could easily make out her lady’s maid, caught in a compromising position. Just as she’d expected.
Caterina’s breath caught in her throat as she watched the two kiss. When they broke apart, Fiametta’s skin sparkled in the moonlight. The stranger reached his arms up, giving a quick tug at the neckline of Fiametta’s dress—really, Caterina’s dress—and the fabric fell to the maid’s waist, exposing her breasts.
Caterina’s heart skipped a beat. She should go. She shouldn’t be watching this.
But who was that man? From this angle, in the dark, he could have been anyone—medium height, brown hair. Caterina told herself she had to wait to see who it was. It was the responsible thing to do. After all, Fiametta clearly couldn’t be trusted to act in her best interest, so Caterina would have to gather more information to help her maid.
As Caterina watched, wide-eyed, the man leaned in toward Fiametta, burying his face in her neck. She threw back her head and melted into his embrace. Her lips parted and another sound broke the silence.
But it wasn’t Fiametta. It was the branch in Caterina’s hand. It slipped through her grasp and slapped against her body. Caterina’s heart stopped. They must have heard the sound.
She resolved to run back to the tent.
And then the man turned and looked right at her.
Caterina recognized him immediately.
Chapter Fifteen
James knew he wasn’t supposed to talk to the two women on the trip, but he couldn’t help watching them. Every evening, he and Mazzeo set up the tent and cots for the lady and her maid, and every morning he broke them down. At the end of the day, he watched the women exit the carriage, walk to the tent, and tie the door shut. And in the morning, he saw them emerge, eyes bright, for another day on the road.
The relationship between the two perplexed him. James didn’t know many ladies, but Caterina continued to upset his expectations. Instead of holding her nose in the air, she looked into everyone’s eyes. She didn’t complain about the lack of supplies or the rough cot she slept on. And every day her clothes were less formal, more like a merchant’s wife than a patrician’s daughter.
The maid, on the other hand, never quite lost her sour expression. She eyed everyone with a combination of suspicion and curiosity, as if they were ruffians after her lady’s virtue.
But, no, that wasn’t quite right. The maid barely looked at Caterina. Her eyes were always darting around the camp in the few minutes she was outside. James watched her on the second day—she studied the men one by one, seeming to seal each into her memory before moving on to the next. When she stepped out of the wagon, her eyes swept that day’s camp, checking the perimeter as if she were on guard duty.
The maid didn’t look at Caterina. And, curiously, she didn’t look at Lorenzo, either. Her eyes jumped past him when she stared at the men surrounding her. Did she have a grudge against the Medici? It was curious that among their small crew of thirteen, the only people she didn’t look at were the two Medici.
And James. After she scanned him on that first day, taking him in from the tip of his head down to his toes and leaving him feeling bare, she avoided looking at him, too.
Caterina wasn’t the only surprise. James was having trouble reading Lorenzo, as well. He didn’t dress like a lord. He donned simple clothes like the rest of the guards, and other than the air of wealth that somehow stuck to him like a second skin, he was nearly indistinguishable from the other men. Lorenzo threw down a bedroll just like everyone else. He even took a shift guarding the camp at night. He didn’t say much to the other men, but James could tell this wasn’t the boy’s first time on the road.
On the third day, James rode close enough to the carriage to look inside. What did the women do all day? As his horse slowed to match the pace of the team pulling the wagon, James dipped his head slightly to glance through the window. Caterina was on the far side of the carriage, her hands busy knitting something, socks or a quilt. Odd. James had always assumed that ladies had people to do their knitting for them.
The maid must have been leaning back on her bench. James couldn’t see her. He nudged the horse an inch closer and caught a glimpse of the woman, eyes closed in sleep. Her face was so peaceful, almost angelic. But then Caterina looked up. James recoiled from the carriage as if he’d been burnt. He didn’t ride close to them after that.
On the fourth evening, after the women were in their tent, Ercole ordered the guards to gather around the fire. Even the two guards assigned to watch duty circled up at Ercole’s signal. Lorenzo, too, sat near the fire, letting Ercole take the lead.
“Things change tomorrow,” Ercole began. “We split into two parties.”
James narrowed his eyes. Another security measure, perhaps.
Ercole continued, ignoring the looks between the guards. “One group will continue on to Rome. The other will split off for Viterbo. Both groups should reach their destinations by nightfall on the sixth day. Now pay attention. Ruggio, Jacopo, Panzo, and Mazzeo. You’ll ride with Lorenzo for Rome. The rest will stay with me to Viterbo.”
James cleared his throat.
Ercole shot him a stony look. “You got a question, Giacomo?”
“Where’s the wagon going?”
“Viterbo. Now get to sleep. Tomorrow’s a long day. We leave at dawn.”
The men on watch went back to their posts, while a few others rolled into bed. The sun had dipped behind the trees. Long shadows cut across the grass. An uneasy feeling rooted itself in James’s belly. He nodded to Mazzeo. “One last sparring session?” he asked.
“It’s dark.”
“Then we’ll have to use the moonlight. Unless you’re afraid of the dark?”
Mazzeo grinned and pulled his shirt over his head.
They walked to a patch of grass a hundred yards from the camp, behind a cluster of trees that blocked the campfire from view. But when Mazzeo started stretching, James reached out a hand to still him. “Something doesn’t feel right,” James said in a low voice, checking the tree line to make sure they were alone.
“This splitting up business?”
James nodded.
“You’re just being paranoid,” Mazzeo said. “But if you didn’t want to spar, I wish you’d told me. I would have brought a flagon of ale.”
“Ale?”
“Didn’t you hear that Ercole bought a barrel of ale when we stopped at that little shop?”
“No.” The knotted tension in James’s stomach hardened. They’d been so cautious the entire trip, but now Ercole was letting the guards drink? Something wasn’t right.
Mazzeo watched his face. “I know that look. You aren’t going to drop it, so why don’t you tell me what’s gotten under your skin?”
James could hear the men around the fire laughing. They’d sleep well tonight, with a barrel of ale nestled in their bellies.
But how could he explain the tickle at the back of his neck to Mazzeo? “Did you know we were splitting up?”
Mazzeo shook his head. “I thought we were all going to Rome. I told you that before we left.” He eyed his friend.
James could see the caution in Mazzeo’s face.
“But Ercole must have known we were going to split up back in Florence. Why didn’t he say anything?”
Mazzeo shrugged. “The man’s always struck me as cautious. Must have been for a good reason. Security, maybe.”
“So tomorrow we split up. Look who’s going each place. You, Ruggio, Panzo, and Jacopo. You’ve all been working for the Medici for a handful of years.”
“Panzo was hired last year, but point taken.”
“And the newcomers are going to Viterbo. Why?”
“Who knows? Ercole must have drawn straws or something. Maybe Lorenzo asked for guards he knows to come to Rome.” One of Mazzeo’s eyebrows lowered. “And you aren’t new. Neither is Ercole. But you’re both going to Viterbo.”
“It’s not just that. If Ercole is in charge of the mission, why isn’t he going to Rome? What’s so important in Viterbo? Why are the women going there? Why all the secrecy?”
“You have too much time on your hands,” Mazzeo declared. “We should have sparred. It would give you something to do besides come up with questions.”
James was about to point out the sound of drunken laughter already coming from the camp, but he sealed his mouth. Maybe Mazzeo was right. Maybe he was too suspicious. Maybe he wanted an excuse to be suspicious. The color had drained from James’s life at some point that summer.
Or, to tell the truth, he knew exactly when. It was the moment he’d put together a case about Poole, just to be dismissed by Piero de’ Medici. Standing next to a chest full of riches didn’t interest James. He felt the tug at the back of his mind to return to his old life.
James shook his head. The past was in the past. And he knew where that path led—it only led to bloodshed and death.
Maybe he was inventing plots to give his mind something to do. Something to distract him.
James had thought the change of scenery might be good for him. A chance to see Rome, visit the Colosseum and Old Saint Peter’s Basilica, walk through the Forum. Maybe he’d catch a glimpse of the pope or Rome’s powerful families, the Colonna or the Orsini.
Maybe he was just disappointed that he was headed for Viterbo while Mazzeo got to see Rome. No one got that excited to see Viterbo, after all.
“You okay?” Mazzeo asked, breaking James from his thoughts.
James nodded. “Let’s get back to camp. I guess you took your shirt off for nothing.”
“I’ll take any excuse I can get,” Mazzeo shot back as they walked through the trees. “You never know when Caterina might be watching.”
James’s eyes leapt to the tent, standing alone a dozen yards from the fire. The flap was tied shut, as usual. From here, you couldn’t tell if the two women were inside sleeping, or maybe whispering secrets across the space between their cots.
Mazzeo slapped James on the back and walked ahead, eager to grab some of the ale before it ran out. James kept an eye on the tent for a moment longer.
“Nice night for a drink,” a voice said at James’s shoulder. His nerves jumped, but he held his body still. James looked over to see Ercole, a cup of ale in one hand. “I saved you one,” the guard said, holding out the cup.
James shook his head. “I don’t drink.”
“Not even for special occasions?”
“Not even then,” James lied. Had Ercole been waiting for him at the edge of the clearing? The man’s sudden appearance unnerved James. And why was he pushing ale on everyone?
“Suit yourself,” Ercole said, tossing back the cup. When he emerged for air, he trained an eye on James. “Giacomo, I’ll need your help on our trip to Viterbo. I can’t tell you why we’re going there, but I can see you’re a smart man. The kind people can count on.”
James grunted at the compliment, equally balanced between caution and curiosity.
“All I can say is that our journey is critically important to the Medici family. You do want to help the family, yes?”
It felt too much like a job interview. What answer did Ercole expect? “Of course.”
“I’m glad I can count on you.” The silence stretched until Ercole broke it with a loud belch. “Ha! That was a good one.” He stepped back into the woods.
The hairs on the back of James’s neck stood alert. Something wasn’t right about the man. He wouldn’t let his guard down while Ercole was around. And the guard always seemed to be lurking somewhere.
James turned his eyes back on the tent. His throat tightened when he saw the flap slip open, barely noticeable in the dark, and a figure emerged. From her pulled-back hair, it must have been Caterina. She kept her back to the fire as she stepped off into the woods, blending into the dark trees.
Something in the woman’s step made James frown. She was headed toward the road, in the direction of the winding brook that bordered the camp. And it almost looked like she was planning to meet someone.
She couldn’t be sneaking off to see Ercole. No, it wasn’t possible. Ercole had left only minutes earlier in the same direction, though.
James took a step toward the brook before he stopped himself. He couldn’t chase after phantoms all night. And so what if Caterina de’ Medici was having an affair with Ercole? It made no difference to Giacomo, the lowly guard.
Another plot. Another secret, uncovered by the bored Medici guard. James shook off his questions and focused on the campfire. A few of the men had already passed out. Mazzeo sat with Panzo and Jacopo, no doubt making plans for their time in Rome. James nodded at his friend before he climbed into his bedroll.
But as much as he tried, he couldn’t destroy the knot in his stomach.
Chapter Sixteen
Lorenzo.
Lorenzo and Fiametta.
Fiametta and Lorenzo?
Caterina raced back to her tent, not even paying attention to the men sleeping around the fire or trying to hide the sounds of her steps.
How? How had the two even met?
And why? Well, she had some idea why. But still. It was wrong. So wrong.
Were they still standing by the brook? Had Lorenzo seen her? No one had chased after her. Maybe he was too busy with Fiametta. And her bare breasts. Had he laid her down in the grass to continue their coupling?
Lorenzo!
Caterina’s heart didn’t stop pounding until she heard the tent flap open once more, and Fiametta slipped back into her bed. Even then, Caterina listened to the sound of the maid undress for bed and pull up her sheets.
So apparently she had gotten dressed again after her encounter with Caterina’s brother.
Her maid and her brother.
How? Caterina kept coming back to the same question.
And then another, darker thought hit her. Why was Fiametta on this journey? Caterina had assumed it was to care for her during the trip, though obviously that wasn’t happening since Fiametta had assumed Caterina’s identity the first day.
Was that why she’d come? Did Lorenzo ask her to play the lady for him? Had the two of them plotted the entire thing back in Florence, laughing that they’d show Caterina by transforming her into a maid while Fiametta traipsed around with the future ruler of Florence?
Obviously she wasn’t falling asleep any time soon.
But eventually Caterina did fall asleep, because before she knew it, she was opening her eyes to the sounds of the men breaking camp.
And the first thought on her mind was, Fiametta and Lorenzo?
She sprung up and looked at Fiametta’s bed. It was empty.
Had the maid snuck off again to cavort with her brother? Caterina could almost feel the fumes rising from her head. But, no. She had to hide her shock and anger. If Fiametta knew . . . if Lorenzo knew . . . It would only be bad for Caterina.
But maybe she could use this information to her advantage.
Lorenzo wasn’t her father—he was responsible, yes, but it wasn’t tinged with paranoia. Lorenzo was on this journey to visit Rome and make connections. What did he care whether Caterina made it to the conv
ent?
An ember of hope sparked in Caterina’s mind. Could she convince Lorenzo to take her to Rome, with him, instead of the convent? It might buy her the time she needed to convince her parents that she wasn’t destined for the monastic life. And if they still resisted, well, she could always marry some Roman patrician. Once she was married, her parents couldn’t force her to do anything. No convent would take her.
Lorenzo’s foolish affair might be Caterina’s last chance at escape.
She dressed quickly in the tent, ignoring the scratchy fabric against her skin. As she rose, Fiametta stuck her head inside. Caterina plastered an empty smile on her face.
Fiametta didn’t seem to notice the energy buzzing around Caterina. “We’re breaking camp early today. Ercole says it will be a long ride.”
“I’m ready,” Caterina said, tucking her blankets into the cot. “Just give me a moment and I’ll bring out the bag.”
Fiametta nodded and her head disappeared. Caterina chuckled to herself. The maid didn’t realize what a favor she’d done for her lady.
Caterina flung the bag over her shoulder and stepped out of the tent. True to Fiametta’s word, the bedrolls were tied on the backs of saddled horses. A few men had already mounted. A bitter scent caught Caterina off guard and she wrinkled her nose as she glared for its source. Near the edge of the grass she saw a suspicious puddle. Had one of the men vomited, right in their camp? Ugh. They were disgusting.
Caterina looked for her brother and found him on the opposite side of the fire, about to bite into an apple. She dropped the bag at her feet and was about to walk over to confront him when Ercole blocked her path.
“Your lady is already in the carriage,” Ercole said, pointing to Fiametta. “You’d better follow. We leave in five minutes.”
Caterina shot another glance at Lorenzo. There wasn’t enough time to confront him, and this wasn’t the right setting, anyway. The guards were mounting up, and when she spun around to look at the tent it had already been packed away by the joking guard and his friend Lancelot.
The Medici Prize (The Stolen Crown Trilogy Book 1) Page 11
