Italian Time Travel 01 - The Other Side of Heaven

by Morgan O'Neill

  He made no reply to this, and they rode in silence until Gwen said, “I’m not sure I can guide you to Father Warinus now. I’ve lost track of where we are.”

  “I know where we are and where he is. Barca led me to Warinus last night. Jesus God, when I found out what you had done, I––” His voice died in strangled fury.

  Gwen squirmed, her mind grappling with the dawning realization of just how lucky she was to have escaped.

  “We watched helplessly as Berengar returned to his keep,” Alberto went on. “We were too few against his forces, so he passed through the gates unmolested. We could do nothing; I could do nothing,” he leaned over and spat on the ground, “but change the location of your camp, and pray God you would escape at dawn. A night was never so long as that. When I thought of you inside with… what would you have done if I hadn’t shown up when I did?”

  “I––”

  “You would have died with an arrow to your back, or been returned to Garda for questioning. Imagine your fate then. You have made it a very personal matter with Berengar now, and he will leave no stone unturned to find you, to repay you for the insult. We shall rendezvous with Father Warinus and Barca after nightfall, but only if we find Berengar has recalled his men, which is possible. They merely search for a nosy monk, after all.”

  Gwen bristled, but choked back her resentment. “Berengar may have more reason than mere insult at having been infiltrated. Somehow, he realized I was a woman and he came after me – barged right into my room – but instead of raping me as he intended, the bastard tripped and fell when his pants dropped to his ankles. I hit him twice with a bucket. I think I broke his nose. Last I saw, he was lying on the floor, unconscious, bleeding, and limp as a dishrag.”

  Alberto said nothing, but she could feel the tension ease in his shoulders and heard him chuckling as he nudged his horse forward. The sound was wonderful, and her anger melted away.

  “So then,” he said, “you’ve learned to defend yourself, at least.”

  “Funny.” Gwen laid her cheek against his back and loosened her vice-grip on him. She flexed her fingers, then opened them and placed them gently around his waist, intending nothing more than to find a secure hold, but the chain mail was slippery.

  Suddenly, she could hardly breathe, her fingers on fire as she sensed his flat stomach, taut and etched with muscles. Without thinking, her hands explored upward, across his chest, then returned to his waist, wanting more, until Alberto stopped her hands with his.

  Flustered, Gwen bit her lip, pressed her cheek more firmly against him, and tried to control her breathing. This was no time for… that. But all she could see from behind her closed lids were his eyes, his lips, and she entwined her fingers with his.

  Heracles made his way down a deeply shaded slope, following a path almost hidden by lush undergrowth, and Alberto raised her hand, kissing her palm.

  A moan escaped her. She sat up, startled, embarrassed, and terribly aroused.

  “Alberto, stop,” Gwen could hardly speak, “stop the horse.”

  “A moment more,” he replied. “I must water Heracles, now that he is cooled. There is a small stream up ahead where he can drink, where we can… where we will be safe from spies.”

  Once they arrived at the sun-dappled glen, the horse lowered his head to drink from the tiny rivulet of sparkling water. Gwen slid to the ground, clutching Alberto’s tunic, but not for balance. She gazed up and touched his knee.

  “Alberto.” Gwen had never wanted anyone so badly, so fully. How could she make him understand how she felt? “Get off your horse,” she whispered, looking up at him. “Please come down.”

  His movements measured and deliberate, Alberto swung his leg around, dismounted, and removed his helmet. Dropping it to the ground, he drew her close. “I feared you would never get out of Garda alive,” he said, pushing wisps of hair off her brow, his voice rough with emotion.

  Holding her hands, he kissed each palm and then gravely searched her face, his dark eyes pulling her into his heart, into his soul.

  Gwen wrapped her arms around his waist and tilted her head back to look at him, inviting his embrace. Her pulse pounding with desire, she touched his chain mail. “Alberto, get rid of it. Take it off.”

  He released his hold on her to struggle with his chain mail and sword, cursing their cumbersome weight, before dropping them beside his helmet. His tunic and boots followed immediately afterward, and he stood before her, bare-chested, his dark, loose curls touching his shoulders, his eyes looking straight at her, burning her up.

  “Gwendolyn.”

  In an instant, she was back in his arms, kissing him as he pulled at her sack and clothes, until she was naked. His arms crushed her body against his, the heat of his bare skin searing.

  Cupping her buttocks, he lifted her off the ground. She could feel the swell of him, so hard. The exhilaration of delayed desire, of danger and escape, tore through her and her mouth sought his, desperate to taste, know, and devour. His days-old stubble scraped at her face, the salt of his skin like an elixir.

  Clinging to him, kissing as he fumbled with the drawstring of his pants, she felt his fingers brush against her, igniting new fires, and then she gasped at the sudden surge of him inside her, thrusting, even before they were on the ground. He laid her on a bed of leaves, still moving within her, pounding, driving, until he strained and shuddered.

  Her mind, her body exploding from within, Gwen arched against him, and they cried out together in their ecstasy, the culmination overwhelming, making them whole, complete, alive.

  He collapsed beside Gwen and then pulled her close, the sound of their heavy breathing filling the air as moments passed, as Gwen’s heartbeat slowed.

  “Alberto,” she whispered, gently brushing her lips against his forehead. She toyed with his hair, tracing silver strands, then looked up at the sky.

  Her mind flitted to her past, almost certainly lost forever, and to her future, hazy and uncertain, then to this man who lay beside her. She sighed and kissed his shoulder.

  In response, he rose up on one elbow, his gaze still smoldering. “My Gwendolyn.” He leaned in and kissed her softly. “My heart is entirely yours, and I have been able to think of little else these days.” His rough fingers caressed her cheek, traced over her mouth, and then trailed down, circling her breast, her abdomen. “You are so beautiful, but I must ask you to forgive me. I should never have allowed myself to behave so basely toward you. To lose control as I did, taking you in the woods when you deserve the finest—”

  Gwen ran her fingers through his hair. “Don’t regret anything. It was time. Perfect.”

  She drew his head to hers and kissed him, desire surging anew. “Alberto, my Alberto, I want you again, but don’t hurry this time. Don’t ever stop. Make love to me again.”

  *

  Gwen could have spent the day in that beautiful spot, not caring what happened to the world beyond where they lay entwined, blissful. But Alberto finally insisted they mount up and leave the area, and once again she found herself atop Heracles, this time in the saddle, with Alberto sitting behind.

  Gwen dozed, her head against Alberto’s shoulder, but from time to time she opened her eyes, once beside a brook watching the horse drink, then seeing the splash of water as they made their way upstream. Later, in the pink glow of sunset, Heracles cantered through a field of grass. In those waking moments, Gwen could only wonder at the peace she felt with Alberto, the sense of security he gave her. He was her refuge.

  “Gwendolyn?”

  His voice was like music. She loved the sound of her name on his lips.

  “Gwendolyn, you must wake now.”

  “Hmm?” Gwen straightened, rubbing her eyes. “Where are we?”

  “We are near the new camp. I would talk to you about… you realize we cannot openly display our affection before my men. Not yet. Not while we’re at war.”

  “I understand. It would be a distraction, and we need to concentrate on rescuing Que
en Adelaide.”

  He hugged her. “You are a wise woman, and I thank you.”

  Gwen and Alberto rode into camp silently, his arms still protectively wrapped around her. Barca and Warinus were there to greet them as if they’d announced their arrival. No longer hidden within the confines of her hood, she tried to ignore the two dozen or so men of Alberto’s expeditionary force, but found she couldn’t. To a man, they watched her, evaluating, wondering, she supposed, about the woman who had passed herself off as a man, who had fooled them all, but who now stood revealed.

  Alberto dismounted and helped Gwen off his warhorse, then bowed to her quite formally. He was making a statement to his men, one of respect, but the love in his gaze shone through.

  She smiled and bowed to him. “Thank you, my lord.”

  His voice was low, for her alone. “I think you’ve been found out, my lady. There is no more need to act the man by bowing.”

  Clearing his throat, Father Warinus peered intently at her face. “God answered our prayers. We are happy to see you both returned safely.”

  “Thank you, Father,” Alberto said. His demeanor was all business as he turned to Barca. “What news? Any change at Castle Garda since dawn?” The two walked away, their heads close as they talked.

  “Alberto?” Gwen started to follow, but Father Warinus took her elbow and coaxed her away.

  “Come with me. His men have things to discuss with him,” he said, walking toward the place where he’d spread out their bedrolls. “We watched in horror as Berengar returned last night. I thank God you escaped. His men were all over the area of our old camp this morning. Lord Alberto was wise to have us move. Come, come, let me fix you something to eat. They have brought wine and plenty of fresh food. A good meal shall renew your strength.”

  Over a hunk of cheese, some smoked pork, tasting like prosciutto, and thick slices of wheat bread, she listened to Father Warinus’s recounting of the past day. After a time, the wine loosened her tongue, and she answered his questions about Adelaide. He was devastated upon hearing of the queen’s treatment, concerned and generally astonished by Gwen’s bravery during her escape.

  “I would never have found the courage you displayed,” Warinus said. “You are truly blessed of God with a bold heart.”

  He fell silent, thoughtful for a moment as Gwen fought the desire to curl up on her bedroll.

  “My child,” he finally continued, “did Berengar, uh, do anything you do not wish to divulge? If there is anything burdening your soul, you may speak to me. Rest assured it shall go no further.”

  “No, Father. Believe me, Berengar tried, but beyond terrifying me, no,” Gwen replied. She studied the priest’s expression, filled with fatherly concern. She was touched he should feel so strongly.

  Footsteps approached and a soldier interrupted them.

  “I beg your pardon, Father Warinus,” the man said, “but Lord Alberto summons you to a council of war. Please come with me.”

  Gwen and Warinus quickly got to their feet, but the soldier held out his hand. “Please, Brother, er, my lady. Women do not belong in a war council.”

  Warinus patted Gwen’s hand. “You rest, my dear. You look exhausted. We shall take care of this.”

  She stood rooted. Were they kidding? She fumed as the two men walked away, but wouldn’t let herself follow, because she knew she’d end up yelling at everyone. They would see that as womanly hysteria, reinforcing every notion they harbored about the supposedly weaker sex.

  Gwen grabbed her things and stormed off, dragging them well away from the men’s blankets. She threw her bedroll on the ground and flopped down.

  Damn Neanderthals – all of them!

  She glared at the beautiful night sky, at the treetops silhouetted against the stars, but couldn’t relax. She had detailed information they needed to hear.

  “Customs be damned,” she muttered. Gwen flung back her covers, got up, and headed for the meeting. As she approached, she stared down the guard and marched straight past him to the group of men sitting in a rough circle, drinking.

  All eyes, perhaps fifteen pair, turned to gaze at her in surprise, Warinus and Alberto among them.

  “Ah, Gwen, er, Lady Gwendolyn,” Alberto said as he stood.

  She caught a glint of humor in his gaze.

  “I’m glad you decided to join us, my lady.” Alberto turned to the others. “She has gleaned valuable information. Let her speak of what she has learned.”

  Gwen stared at him in surprise, the barbed words she’d planned to use turning to dust. She smiled awkwardly and moved to his side, but before she could sit, Alberto raised his mug.

  “A moment, Gwen,” he said. “Remain standing. We owe this woman a debt of gratitude, for she infiltrated the enemy’s stronghold for the love she bears our queen. Before she could leave the keep, she fought Berengar alone and laid him low.”

  Murmurs of disbelief greeted this comment.

  “But it is true. Berengar discovered she was no monk and tried to assault her,” Alberto paused for effect, “but she broke his nose for his efforts, his pants at his ankles, both his ego and his cock humiliated, and thoroughly deflated.”

  There was a moment of silence, then the men roared with laughter and Gwen grinned, her cheeks hot with embarrassment despite the hilarity and shouts of approval.

  Alberto thrust his mug toward the center of the gathering and everyone stood, doing the same.

  “To the lady Gwendolyn,” he said, “for striking the first blow against our enemy.”

  “Lady Gwendolyn!” the others replied.

  Someone gave Gwen a mug and she sat, gratefully taking a long pull of wine before she spoke. Haltingly at first, then with more confidence, she told them everything she had learned at Garda Castle.

  Once done, she cast a glance at Alberto as the others discussed all they’d heard. “You really didn’t need to give me such a grand introduction. I was angry. I came here to yell at you for not allowing me to be a part of this.”

  “Normally women wouldn’t be a part of this, but you are different, aren’t you?” he replied with a disarming smile. “Besides, acts of bravery deserve to be acknowledged. As to your being angry, I don’t know why you should have been. Woman or no, I expected to see you here with Warinus. I was surprised when you didn’t come, but assumed you were in desperate need of sleep, else you would never have let us make plans without your taking part.”

  She frowned. “Generally, I avoid going to places where I’m not wanted. The soldier said rather pointedly women don’t belong in a war council.”

  “Then he offered his own, dangerously misguided opinion,” Alberto said, grinning broadly. “I know for a fact you frequently go where you’re not supposed to. Why didn’t you just break the soldier’s nose, as you did Berengar’s?”

  “I would have,” Gwen said with a soft laugh. “Only I thought you were the one who gave the order. I came to break your nose.”

  When Alberto laughed heartily at her words, several men glanced their way, and Gwen looked at the ground, hoping her feelings for Alberto weren’t obvious.

  Talking picked up again, but even as Alberto turned away to speak with another, he pressed his knee against hers. It was a deliberate act, a signal, a secret conversation between the two of them.

  Gwen pressed back, but kept her eyes forward, listening. The heat of his touch surged straight to her core.

  Swinging around, his words almost a whisper, Alberto said, “It is a good thing you didn’t break my nose, for then you would think me too ugly to love.”

  She realized he sounded a little drunk. How she wanted to kiss him, but they had to appear business-like, she reminded herself, absolutely serious.

  Eyes closing, she felt her body sway and roll, but this time it wasn’t from desire. It was fatigue, and she felt as though she’d spent the day on a boat. “I’m exhausted,” she said, wishing he could share her bedroll, knowing he couldn’t. She lowered her voice, “I wish we could…”


  Choking on his wine, Alberto got to his feet and bowed, his demeanor suddenly sober. With an air of formality, he helped her to stand. “Men, the lady Gwendolyn tells me she would retire, as should we all, soon enough. We have heard her report and must discuss our next move.”

  She followed his cue and curtsied to him and the rest of the group. “Gentlemen, good evening.”

  They rose as one, raised their mugs once more, and bid her goodnight.

  *

  After some searching, Alberto and Father Warinus found Gwen sound asleep. As the priest prepared his bedroll not far from hers, Alberto yawned, exhausted. He gazed at her face, so beautiful and innocent in sleep. He knelt beside her and pulled up the edge of the blanket to cover her shoulder, aching to hold her, protect her from the evils of this world.

  She was a strange, exhilarating woman. He imagined her at his home, side by side with him, helping him run Canossa and all his domains. He knew she would not be one to stay by the hearth, and he smiled when he thought of the outlandish things she would teach his daughter.

  Alberto’s vision blurred, his mind drifting toward fanciful dreams, and he shook his head. He would be patient. One day she would be his. One day. In the meantime, he needed sleep.

  “She cares for you very deeply, my lord,” Warinus said quietly. He stood by his bedroll, already keeping watch, and Alberto was fully aware the priest would remain on guard until he left.

  Alberto sighed and stood. He gazed on Gwendolyn’s star-lit countenance once more. “She means everything to me, Father. Keep her well.”

  Then he turned and left to find his own bedroll among his men.

  *

  Gwen opened her eyes and looked at the stars. She had slept for hours, but sensed it was still well before dawn.

  Alberto. Where was he? With a sense of urgency, she rose and glanced around. Father Warinus slept nearby, but it was dark and she wasn’t sure where Alberto lay.

  She heard the slight crunch of leaves. Heart racing, she peered into the darkness.

  “My lady?”