Then she gave him a longer look. His sandy hair was tied back neatly, nothing like yesterday after the attack when it had fallen to his shoulders like a lion’s mane. She couldn’t see his eyes, but she knew the exact shade of blue, like the sky before a storm. And she looked at his broad shoulders, which he’d used more than once to block her body from harm. Even if the danger ended up being a deer.
No, she couldn’t believe Lancelot was an outlaw. She didn’t think he was only in this for the money.
But wealth made people do strange things.
Caterina’s thoughts wandered, replaying their few conversations over the past twenty-four hours. One thing Lancelot had said stood out in Caterina’s mind. The attackers wore the pope’s colors. Lancelot didn’t seem to think that proved the men worked for the pope, but Caterina had her doubts. Why else would they show the pontiff’s sigil? Impersonation carried a heavy fine. If they didn’t want to reveal their identity, the men wouldn’t have dressed in colors at all.
Caterina screwed her eyes shut and sent up a quick prayer for Fiametta. Hopefully the maid would keep her mouth closed and maintain her impersonation of Caterina. If the men meant to ransom Fiametta, they wouldn’t cause her harm. Would they? No. They needed her to carry a message back to Piero. The kidnapping had to be a ploy to force Piero into some kind of action: make a loan, sign a new alliance, something of that sort.
But Lancelot didn’t think the attackers really worked for the pope. Could it be Luca Pitti, then? Had he learned of Caterina’s disastrous attempt to break into his house, and this was his retribution?
No, only a handful of people knew that she had tried to break into Luca Pitti’s house. Her father. Her mother. Giuliano. As far as Caterina knew, even Lorenzo hadn’t heard the entire story.
Lorenzo. He must be in sight of the walls of the Eternal City by now. He didn’t know anything about the attack, or the fact that Fiametta had been kidnapped. The hairs on the back of Caterina’s neck stood up. What would Lorenzo do when he learned of the attack? Would he fly into a rage? He was always in control of his emotions, unlike Giuliano.
But how would Lorenzo hear of the attack? The raid had obviously been timed for after their party split apart. Would the kidnappers send a ransom note to Lorenzo? He was in Rome, where their bank had a massive stash of gold, so contacting Lorenzo would be the fastest way to trade girl for coin.
The kidnappers might not realize who they held, but Lorenzo would know. He was the only one on the journey, aside from Caterina and Fiametta, who knew they had switched places.
Caterina suddenly frowned. The guards. None of the guards had known that she was only pretending to be a maid.
The conversation she’d overheard the previous day replayed in her mind on an endless loop. Where’s the other one? The maid? Where’s the other one?
The voice. She recognized it.
Chapter Twenty-Three
James stared at the ground. A path snaked at his feet, cutting directly across the woods. It wasn’t much, no more than a foot wide. Not enough for any kind of wheeled transport. But enough for a man walking. Or a horse.
He studied the packed dirt, searching for horse prints. There were none. But the ground was hard enough that a horse might not leave an impression.
It could be an old path, maybe used in centuries past to come into the woods to hunt game or look for mushrooms. But something told him it was still in use.
A path. One direction led back toward the Via Romana. The other, toward the coast.
“So, what do we do?” Caterina spoke so close to James’s shoulder that he almost started. She had been so quiet, barely speaking to him as he set up the tent on the second night and rolled out his own blanket a few yards away. When he’d woken to the rays of sun slanting through the forest, Caterina had already broken down the tent and packed it away on the horse. She’d been riding most of the day.
James wanted to answer her question with confidence, but the truth was, he had no idea what they should do. They could follow the path east and find enemies on the Via Romana or travel west and find some other danger. They could ignore the path and die here in the woods, either from exposure—the nights were already colder than only a week earlier—or another attack.
The path appealed to James from that point of view. If it left no marks, it would cover their tracks. They had been stomping through the forest, leaving a wide trail of broken branches and disturbed leaves that even an amateur tracker could follow. James had been looking for a wide, shallow river, something they could ride down for a hundred yards to throw trackers off their scent, but of course the woods never provided what you needed in the moment.
Caterina seemed annoyed by his lack of answer. She wasn’t patient when someone was trying to think, he’d learned. “If we turn right, we should hit the Via Romana within half a day’s ride. Assuming we’ve been traveling due north. A few days of hard riding and we could be back in Florence.”
“Or we could run into the kidnappers if they’re heading to Florence.”
She paused for a moment, biting her lower lip. “The Via Romana is one of the longest roads in the world. I doubt we’d run into them.”
“Are you willing to take that chance?”
He took her silence as a no. Caterina never liked to admit when she was wrong.
“What about the other direction? Left? How far are we from the sea?”
“At least two days’ ride, assuming good traveling conditions. Maybe more like three or four.” The truth was, James had no idea where they were. It was difficult keeping on course in the woods, where you had to backtrack because of impassable terrain and when the thick canopy of leaves sometimes blocked out the sun. And he’d been passed out the first day, when Caterina had led them some unknown distance in an unknown direction. They were somewhere north of Rome and south of Florence, west of the Apennines but not on the coast. That left hundreds of square miles, a territory completely foreign to James.
The Via Romana might be on the other side of that copse of trees, for all he knew.
“We go left,” he told her. To his surprise, she turned the horse in that direction without complaint.
The path was much easier going than traveling through the woods. James kept his senses alert, straining to hear the sounds of other travelers using the road, but he heard nothing other than the usual sounds of the forest.
An hour later, they’d covered more ground than in the previous two. Maybe the sea wasn’t so far away—but James had no interest in returning to the sea.
He noticed the trees thinning and the surrounding rocky outcroppings growing more common. If only he knew more Italian geography—or topography, he supposed. James was tempted to turn around. Without tree cover, they’d have no way to hide their position. He gritted his teeth every time they reached a bare patch of ground, wondering if anyone was watching them.
The men who’d attacked them weren’t the only threat. What would he say if they ran into a stranger traveling the same road? What would Caterina do?
If anyone sussed out Caterina’s identity, she could lose her position completely. Traveling alone with a man would destroy her reputation. Or she could accuse James of kidnapping. He’d go to the gallows and she’d traipse back to Florence.
James stepped past the last trees and stood on the edge of a vast canyon, spreading out for miles around them. The path continued right over the precipice, picking its way down to the canyon floor, at least a hundred yards below. Thin layers of rock, brick-red alternating with white, scraped the edges of the canyon as if someone had dragged enormous fingers across the stone.
In the distance, a plateau stood tall against the blue sky. Atop it, a church tower peeked above a line of buildings. From here, it looked like a mirage: the city perched on a steep hill. James had seen his fair share of Tuscan hill towns, but this was different. It was the only high point in the miles-long canyon.
“We’ll go there,” Caterina declared, pointing to the city. She
guided the horse over the edge of the ridge and down toward the canyon.
He stared at her back for a moment. He could never predict her reactions, whether she’d seize control or cede it to him. Sitting on the horse, she didn’t look like a servant, in spite of her dress. How had he missed it before? The height of her chin, the neatly trimmed line of her hair, the way she looked at people as though they were hers to command. It was clear to anyone who truly looked that she was no lady’s maid.
And now she was riding toward the first town they’d seen in days. How would they explain their presence?
James reached for his arm and pulled off the fresh dressing she’d tied on last night. There was no fixing the hole in his shirt, but at least he wouldn’t look like an easy target. James balled his fist and felt the wave of pain that he expected. Was it slightly less than before? He couldn’t be sure.
And then he followed her down the path.
It was slow, picking their way to the canyon floor. Halfway down, as the path became more rocky, Caterina swung her leg off the horse and walked. James stayed a dozen yards back, scanning the canyon for signs of life. They were exposed, trailing down the rocky slope, and he didn’t want more surprises.
Trees lined the bottom of the canyon. At least they provided some cover, once they’d navigated the steep path from the ridge.
“This is the Tiber River Valley,” Caterina said. “I don’t know exactly where the Tiber is, but somewhere down here there’s a river.”
“I’ll watch out for it,” James replied.
When the trees broke, Caterina stopped to find the hill town, angling them toward it.
Why was she so intent on visiting the town? Did she plan to declare herself Caterina de’ Medici and enlist the townspeople’s support in returning to Florence? James longed to ask Caterina her plans, but she would only wave him off, he was certain of it.
For an hour or more, they silently traversed the river valley.
And then, just as they approached the sloping ground heading up to the city, Caterina spun around and stared at him. “We have to keep our identities hidden. We’re still in papal territory. If the pope was behind the attack, his power reaches this far.”
James raised an eyebrow at the certainty in her voice. As far as he knew, Caterina had no experience with subterfuge. She certainly wasn’t very good at remaining hidden, if her break-in at the Strozzi palazzo proved anything. She had hidden herself as a maid for almost a week, he admitted. But still. Curiosity tugged at him. What was her plan?
“Then what do you propose?”
“If only I had a better dress,” Caterina muttered, looking down at her gray garb. “I’d pose as a lady, and you could be my retainer. But since that won’t work, we can say we’re delivering a message for some nobleman.”
James was already shaking his head. “First, a lady would never travel alone with a male guard. You know that. Nor would a female servant deliver a message. That would only make people suspicious.”
“They can mind their own business,” Caterina fumed, her eyes narrowing.
“But they won’t. They’ll ask you which nobleman, and you won’t know how to answer because you aren’t an expert on papal state politics. It will only raise suspicions.”
She put her hands on her hips. “The Montaldeschi.”
“The who?”
“The Montaldeschi. They’re the leading family in Orvieto. I’m not surprised you haven’t heard of them.” The scorn in her voice was unmistakable. “Their name carries weight in the papal states. We could be messengers, delivering a letter from Viterbo to Orvieto.”
James stared at her flatly. “You’re still a woman,” he pointed out.
“A woman can deliver messages.”
“A woman can, but women don’t. How often have you seen female messengers in the Medici palace?”
She pulled back one corner of her mouth and then shook off the expression. “Fine. Instead of shooting down my ideas, let’s hear yours.”
“We’re married.”
Caterina looked like she might slap him. “No we aren’t!”
“No, we tell people we’re married. We’re traveling to Orvieto to visit family.”
“The Montaldeschi?”
“Of course not. Why would a poor couple know the Montaldeschi?”
“I’m not poor.”
“But you are. Look at your dress. No one would mistake you for a lady dressed like that, just like none of the guards realized who you are. Don’t think of it as playing a part. Convince yourself that it’s your true life.”
“Convince myself that I’m married to you?” Caterina was shaking her head.
He reached out and took her shoulders gently in his hands, ignoring the pain in his right arm. “We are playing a dangerous game. If the wrong people start to ask questions, we could end up dead. Those men weren’t just after you, they were willing to kill to get to you.”
If she felt fear at his words, her face hid it from him. But he was afraid. The chances of delivering her unharmed to Florence seemed remote. Especially if she kept tugging the reins from him at every turn.
She had to learn that his instincts were better than her own. One rash decision could get them both killed.
James dropped his arms. Caterina turned back toward the town, but she didn’t speak.
Why am I fighting so hard? James asked himself. This was far outside his job description. He was supposed to watch chests of gold to make sure no one stole them, not cross half of Italy with a disguised Medici.
On top of that, he’d made a promise not to get involved guarding a woman ever again. Not after the last time.
Of course, he’d also vowed not to spy, and he’d done that back in Florence. And look where he’d ended up. Thrown into the middle of a Medici scandal that threatened his life.
If he had any sense, he’d drop Caterina off in the town and let someone else take her back to Florence. He should leave Italy, maybe go back to Spain. Fall was coming. It would be nice to find a warm place to winter.
But he looked at Caterina’s proud profile, the upturned chin that she couldn’t seem to disguise, and knew he couldn’t abandon her. It wasn’t his job to protect her, but it was his duty.
“Fine,” Caterina said in a low voice. “We’ll go into the town posing as a married couple. But we can’t say we’re from the south. They’ll hear the lie on our voices right away. We have to be from Florence. You, maybe, can say you’re a foreigner, but I’ll say I’m from Florence. We went on a pilgrimage after we lost our house, and now we’re heading back to Florence to be with our families.”
It wasn’t a bad story, James admitted. And they didn’t have time to come up with anything else. Someone was coming down the thin path from the plateau, walking right toward them.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Caterina didn’t take her eyes off of Lancelot as she trailed him through the woods in the morning light. She’d barely slept last night, wondering if he was waiting to attack her.
Ercole. The voice outside the carriage had been Ercole.
Which meant that at least some of the guards were in on the plot to kidnap Caterina de’ Medici.
Had Lancelot been one of them?
She hadn’t seen him fighting against the attackers. Yes, he’d been struck with an arrow, but that easily could have been an accident. What if he’d stayed behind to make sure everyone in their party was dead, until he stumbled upon her?
Why had she told him who she was right away? His first instinct had been to hide her away from the attackers, which took on a new cast now. What if he’d been hoping to collect the ransom for himself and cut his compatriots out of the bargain?
His broad shoulders cut a path through the woods a dozen yards ahead of where she sat on the horse. If she ran now, would he be able to find her? She had all the supplies and a horse, but somehow she suspected that wouldn’t stop Lancelot.
But he’d also set up her tent without being asked. He offered her the
first portion of food when they stopped for the evening. He smiled and joked with her. Would he do that if he meant her harm?
And then, a few hours ago, they had come upon a path.
Caterina had taken it as a sign. If he pushed for the fastest path back to Florence, it proved he was only after ransom. Or did it prove he was trying to help her? And then he’d wanted to avoid the Via Romana—because he didn’t want to run into Ercole, who would surely throttle Lancelot for swiping their reward, or because he was trying to keep her safe?
And after all that, he decided to go the opposite direction.
Caterina couldn’t decide what to make of it.
Her stomach was rolling in her belly by the time they reached the edge of the canyon. Right away, her eyes were drawn to the city on the hill. Would Lancelot try to avoid people, keeping her hidden away, or would he give in if she pressed? Right now, Caterina decided she’d feel safer surrounded by more people.
But still, Lancelot contradicted her every time she opened her mouth. Was he trying to push her in a certain direction?
“We tell people we’re married,” Lancelot had said.
Caterina’s heart had quickened. She remembered his body pressing into her when he protected her in the woods—even if their assailant was only a deer—and the time next to the carriage right after the attack. Was this part of his plot? In her history books, Caterina had read of kidnappers forcing rich women to marry them, ensuring their social position. Hadn’t the Merovingians done that sort of thing? He was from the edge of the world, after all, so who knew what he might try?
Caterina was about to object again when Lancelot fell silent. She followed his eyes and saw a gray-haired man hobbling down the path directly toward them carrying two empty buckets. She straightened her spine and turned to face him.
“Ho!” he called out as he drew closer. “Are you here for the donkey race?”
The Medici Prize (The Stolen Crown Trilogy Book 1) Page 16
