Mom looked toward the center of camp. “That tent”—she pointed—“is the armory. You’ll find what you need there.”
My eyes went down twenty or more tents to the spot. It was fairly uniform and impressive for a camp that had been thrown together by an army in retreat. “And is there a tent where a girl could ditch a wedding gown and find something more suitable for the battlefield?”
“Meant to ask you about that—”
“I’ll tell you later,” I said hurriedly. I didn’t want to think about what could’ve happened if Marcello hadn’t arrived when he had.
“There is a tent near the armory where you might be able to find some men’s clothes and make do,” she said, studying my face as if she could make out the story in the lines around my eyes.
“Thanks.” I nodded. “I’ll be right back, okay?”
“Okay,” she said, reluctantly letting go of my shoulder.
“Fetch me a new quiver of arrows and an extra bowstring, will you?” Lia said. “I want to stay here with Mom.”
I walked down to the center of the tents, nodding and smiling as people—my people—recognized me and called out greetings or reached out to shake my hand. While the soldiers of Firenze were but a mile away, I felt safe here, among my own. I knew, instinctively, that every last one of them would fight to the death to save me and my sister, and now my mother. And I would do the same for them.
Seeing a man emerge from a tent, a new cape over his arm, I opted to start there. Suddenly, I could not wait to strip the remnants of the dreadful bridal gown from me, as if I might free myself of all the horrific memories it carried at the same time.
Giacinta looked up at me when I entered. She cried out, rushing into my arms. “M’lady, how we feared for you!”
“And I you,” I said.
“Saints be praised,” she said, clasping her hands before her, “You’re home. Well, as close as you can get to it for now.”
“For now,” I agreed. “You escaped unharmed?”
“Right as rain,” she said proudly. “Though I owe my good fortune to your mother. She saved me not once, but twice, from being carried off by Paratore’s men.”
I raised a brow in surprise, still trying to envision my mother in battle. “I am glad,” I said.
“As am I, obviously. Now,” she said, standing back to look me over. “I imagine you seek something to wear.” She leaned over and fingered the silk of my sleeve. “Heavens. Did they try to force you into marriage, m’lady?”
“Do not ask,” I said. “Please. What would you suggest? I understand that you have more men’s clothes than women’s.”
Giacinta turned and went through one pile, then another. I saw that some had blood upon them, others holes and gashes. Stripped from the dead, I figured, stifling a shiver that ran down my back. It made sense, though; the dead were no longer in need of clothing. And men returning from battle…their clothes were in rags.
Giacinta lifted a cape. “Black will have to do,” she said. “Now, if only we had a gown or two.”
“Do not fret,” I said. “Just a clean pair of leggings and a tunic will suit me fine. Best for riding and fighting anyway.”
Giacinta frowned over at me. “Oh, no, m’lady. You must remain here, where ’tis safe. We just got you back!”
I gave her a small smile and ignored her concern. “Leggings, Giacinta? Any leggings without holes this big?” I asked, lifting up a pair with a hole the size of a dinner plate in the rear.
She giggled and dug again, then lifted a pair. “Here! Oh, and look!” She pulled a lovely tunic from the pile. It was huge, but it was green, with gold thread embroidered through it, clearly once belonging to one of the Forelli knights. A knight, now dead.
I took it from her, feeling the full weight of the somber gift.
“Here’s a shirt for beneath it,” she said, lifting the puffy sleeved garment for my inspection. “Only a bit dirty,” she said, spotting the smudge at the top right shoulder.
“It is perfect,” I said. “Thank you.” I gathered the clothing and moved to the tent door, then realized I did not know where I could change. “Giacinta, do you think you could assist me in changing in here?”
“But of course, m’lady,” she said, with an immediate bob of her head. “Just let me speak to a knight outside, so that he might take temporary duty and keep anyone from entering.”
I nodded. While she was away, I dug through a pile of boots but couldn’t find a matched pair. The process depressed me, made me think of so many men, dead on the battlefield, among the broken stones of the castello…
“There, we’re ready now,” Giacinta said softly, as if sensing my mood. “Shall I help you off with that gown?”
“Please,” I said. Did my tone betray my anxiety? I wished I could take a deep, hot bath, but I doubted that was a possibility here, this night.
She unbuttoned the back and then helped me ease off the tight sleeves. I stepped out of it and then pulled the underdress off. Giacinta gasped, seeing the bruising across my back that had spread from my ribs. “M’lady—”
She caught herself, and I didn’t jump to explain. I didn’t wish to remember those moments behind me; I preferred to contemplate what lay ahead.
I stepped out of the pantaloons and could feel the heat of her stare on my leg, but again, I resisted the urge to explain. It was what it was, and I was past it. Or wanted to be, anyway.
I yanked on the leggings, and she handed me a fine leather belt. “Much nicer than the rope I wore last,” I said with a smile, running my finger over the finely treated material. “It’s almost…feminine.”
She smiled and then lifted the shirt up and over my head. It slipped down over me, and I was thankful it did not carry with it the odor of the man who once wore it. Then the tunic was over my shoulders, reaching almost to my knees. Its previous owner had to have been a very large man. I mentally went through the knights I had known, the biggest among them, trying to figure out who it might be who had died.
“Best not to think of it, m’lady,” Giacinta said, reading my face.
“Agreed,” I said.
She let the cape spread between her hands and wound it over my shoulders. “That will help keep the autumn chill from you.”
“Indeed.” I turned and, after briefly considering going barefoot, put on the cursed bridal slippers again.
“May I do your hair for you before you leave, m’lady?” she asked.
“That,” I said with a sigh, “would be lovely. It’s been intolerable ever since I left the castello.” Other than the updo those servant women had created…
She gestured to a chair and returned with a horsehair brush. She began at the bottom and moved up my hair, pulling out the countless tangles and knots. My hair told the story of where I’d been, among the swirl of the river Arno, running through the forest. Quietly, she set aside a bit of ribbon embedded with beads, a piece of hay, tiny branches, leaves, even a couple of small rocks. I laughed inside, wondering how Lia could have let me travel all the way here looking like Medusa with a head full of snakes.
“Was it quite awful, m’lady? What you endured?”
“In turns,” I said. “At times horrific. Other times miraculous.”
She stepped back and gave me a sad smile. “Well, I am glad that the Lord saw fit to bestow the miracle of your return upon us.”
I paused. Had anyone ever considered me a miracle? Just by being present?
She shook her head. “Forgive me, m’lady. But I have no pins and no hair net.”
“That is all right, Giacinta. Just a quick braid?”
She nodded and set to work, quickly pulling my hair into a tight braid, tying it with a leather band, and setting it over my shoulder. She came around me. “Pretty as a princess. You and your sister will give the men
hope, being among us again.”
“Thank you, Giacinta.”
“Pleasure, m’lady,” she said with a curtsy.
I moved out of the tent, and the knight outside gave me a bow. “Lady Betarrini.”
“Thank you for guarding us.”
He bowed again and then strode away, joining two knights who awaited him and studied me with curiosity. I did not know them. They must’ve hailed from a nearby town or Siena itself.
I moved to the next tent and slipped inside, introducing myself to the man who was keeping the armory, a Sir Pezzati. He was about fifty years old, with a white beard trimmed close to a handsome face and bits of gray at his temples. He smiled at me. “I arrived at the castello after you had departed. Had the pleasure of seeing to your mother’s final training with the staff.”
I considered him a bit longer. “Then I am grateful to you, sir. Because of that weapon and her training, she lived to see our return.”
“No gratitude necessary,” he said, suddenly a bit gruff. He checked out my shoulders, as if sizing me up. “Forgive me, m’lady. ’Tis well with you that I do this?”
“Indeed,” I said. “Go to it. You know what I seek?”
He grinned. “Everyone in the land knows of the Ladies Betarrini. And you, being Lady Gabriella Betarrini, must be in search of a short broadsword and sheath.”
I smiled. “I lost mine some time ago. I would feel much better with them at my back again.”
“Well, I can imagine,” he said. He walked around me, still taking measurements with his eyes but in a fatherly sort of way. He moved off to a table in the corner and fished out a sheath with shoulder straps, then to another, tossing aside sword after sword, seeking just the right one. “Ahh, there,” he said, lifting a fine blade into the air.
I joined him at the table and took it from him, feeling the heft of it. I backed up and did a figure eight with my wrist, feeling the flow of the sword, then lifted it to look down the length, against the light. It was straight, true, trustworthy. “It’ll do nicely,” I said.
He lifted the shoulder straps for me, and I slipped it on, then slid the sword into it. I took a deep breath, almost feeling like it was my first real breath in a while.
“Daggers, too, I assume—”
His voice trailed off, and I looked to see what had distracted him.
Marcello stood near the tent flap, staring at me with fury in his eyes. “A minute, sir, with the lady,” he said, demanding rather than asking, never looking fully in the man’s direction.
Sir Pezzati immediately departed.
I frowned back. “What is it?”
“You are arming yourself.”
“Which is wise in the midst of a war, is it not?” I turned toward the table of daggers, wondering why I was feeling so defensive. And why he was feeling so…offensive.
“Your battle is over, Gabriella,” he said, coming over to me. I kept my back to him, wondering when he became my boss. He reached around, took a dagger from my hand, and set it down.
“Marcello, you will soon be away to look for Fortino. I shall go with you.”
“Nay. You shall flee, deeper south, far away from the battle.”
I turned to face him, and my braid flopped over my shoulder. “If you go, I go too. We will bring strength to our men, hope. If Marcello Forelli can free his beloved from the very center of Firenze, how much more can he do at the front? Firenze must be quaking in their boots at this very moment, fearing your return. And mine,” I said, tapping my chest.
He sighed and wrapped a hand around the back of my neck, then lowered his forehead to rest against mine. “I must go alone, beloved. And I must know that you are safe, so I can concentrate on my brother.”
“I can help you, Marcello. Lia and I can—”
“Nay,” he said, leaning down to cover my lips with his.
I allowed it a moment, having missed our stolen moments. But as good as it felt, I was not really in the mood for kissing. Not if he was thinking about heading off without me. I pushed him gently back and turned to collect several daggers and tuck them into my belt. I went over to the table filled with sheaths again, ignoring his sigh of frustration, and chose another leg sheath for a fourth blade, to be worn at the calf.
Once I’d fastened it on, I turned to face him, arms folded. “You can take me with you, or I shall simply follow. And you know what happens when we get separated.”
He shook his head. “Even you are not so foolish that you would again risk being taken by the enemy.”
“I will if it means I am aiding you and Fortino!”
“Gabriella!” he barked, running his fingers into his hair and staring at me with wide eyes. “Do you know what I’ve heard? Do you know what the enemy’s intent is? Do you?”
I frowned. “Nay,” I whispered.
His lips clamped together, and he turned away, shaking his head slowly, as if trying to get a grip. “Never mind,” he said, putting out a hand to the side. “Just choose to trust me.”
I sighed and moved over to him to take his hand. “Marcello, tell me. What is this new threat against you?”
“Not against me,” he said, staring at me as if knowledge of it tortured him. “Against you. Your escape—Gabriella.” He shook his head. “It has infuriated them, to the point of distraction. The new bounty offered for your head would buy any man a thousand acres, cattle, a home.”
I stared back at him numbly. “My head. Literally. Meaning, they only need show up with my head to collect their prize.” I swallowed quickly, not wanting him to see, feel my fear.
“I do not know if we can keep you safe, even deeper to our south. Enemies shall track you wherever you go. We must get you home. Somehow. If only there was some way—”
“Home?” I asked blankly. Castello Forelli was decimated, overthrown…“Siena, you mean?”
“Home,” he said softly. “To Normandy.”
I stared back at him, unable to believe what I was hearing. After all we’d endured, made it through…did he not clearly see that we were meant to be together? Forever? I shook my head. He was willing to give up on us, on love, to keep me alive. It was both infuriating and amazing at the same time.
He gave me a barely perceptible nod, misery in his eyes. “Do you see now?”
I smiled suddenly. “Yes.”
“Why are you smiling?” he asked, looking irritated.
“Because, it’s perfect, really. They want my head. And who will be most eager of all to capture it? Paratore. We can deal with him once and for all.”
He shook his head, clearly disliking my tone.
I stared over to the flame of the torch and then back to him. “How do you catch a bear, Marcello?”
His frown deepened. He refused to play my game.
“With bait,” I answered for him. “And a very big trap.”
CHAPTER 29
“Absolutely not,” Marcello said, walking between the tents. Men and women parted before us, eyes wide, wanting to look away but rubbernecking at us in spite of themselves.
“Marcello, simply listen. It was your idea to begin with. You have yet to hear my entire plan! The tombs are on that little knoll, between the two castellos. If we can draw them all in there, surround them, you can reclaim both again for Siena.”
“Come,” he growled, grabbing my arm and yanking me into a tent.
“Ow!” I said, pulling it from his grasp and frowning at him.
He ignored my complaint. “So you wish to be at the center of them all,” he said, “surrounded. By every last Fiorentini knight. And then you make your escape. I hear you, Gabriella, as loud as church bells. Are you so eager to be rid of me now that you’d gladly risk death?”
“Rid of you? ’Tis you who seem anxious to be rid of me.”
He gave me a helpless stare. “Only to keep you safe. Only for that.”
I stepped toward him, reaching out, wanting to apologize, ease the pain behind his eyes. “We shall leave, but only as before. With the intention of return. In a month’s time, when all is safe.” I paced away, but then frowned. Why wasn’t he going for this? My mom, my sister, and I would be well, safe, while he secured the territory for our return. Did he not get it? “I simply provide bait for your trap. I’ll be out of the fray while you trap the bear and reclaim the land that is rightfully yours.”
“’Tis not perfect.” He shook his head. He looked down at me, misery in his eyes. “I cannot, Gabriella. Do not ask it of me. If we were certain you could reach the tumuli, I’d consider it. But to get you there…it’d be a miracle if you made it.”
“Think of it. Castello Forelli fell because the traitors surprised our men, attacking from the inside. Where is the last place the men of Firenze expect me to be? Fighting from the inside, the center of battle.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Risking your life—I’d rather die myself, a hundred times over.”
I snorted, hardly ladylike, but he was ticking me off. “Ah, so it’s all right for you to risk your life, but I cannot? What you feel—” I said, reaching out to lay a hand on his chest. “Marcello, I feel the same. I cannot lose you. I cannot. And if we are in danger, if Firenze wins this battle, you will be imprisoned or worse.” It was my turn to shake my head. “Nay, that is intolerable for me.”
He stared down at me for a long moment and then wrapped me in his arms. I relaxed and melted into his embrace. He kissed my forehead, then moved down my cheek to my lips, kissing me for a long time, deeply, searchingly, as if he were trying to memorize me—
I read his intent a second too late. He’d interwoven his fingers in my right hand. Swiftly, he turned my wrist and twisted it to my back. “Ouch! Marcello, what are you doing?”
“Forgive me, beloved, but I do this to make a point. Press me, and I shall see no other recourse but to leave you behind, tied to a post and under guard.”
The River of Time Series Page 56
