CHAPTER 13
The knock at my door made me jump in surprise. Hurriedly, I closed the shutters and went to the door and cautiously opened it a crack. Rodolfo. With the guard behind him.
His lips parted, and his eyes widened in wonder. He shook his head a little. “M’lady…you are exquisite.”
I fought the urge to stare back at him. Because he appeared more the Roman god than ever, all six feet of him, his olive skin glistening with oils beneath his white toga, tied at the waist. A ring of greenery around his hair. And the smell of him—perfumes of sandalwood and spice…
I let out a scoffing sound and turned, forcing myself to walk away, flipping my hand in the air. “It appears as if Vivaro has dressed us both for this performance—you as the triumphant hero and me, your conquest.” I paused at the fruit bowl and lifted a tiny apple to take a bite, hearing the door shut behind him and feeling his approach more than hearing it. He was silent. Stealthy. How did he do that?
He put his broad hands on my shoulders and then dragged them downward, terribly, beautifully, painfully slowly, across several inches until they rested on my upper arms, skin against skin. I could feel the warmth of his chest behind me, and I closed my eyes, trying to summon the strength to move away, to break this trance I seemed to be in. But he was pulling me closer, silently asking my permission. Letting his left hand run down the length of my arm, entwining his fingers with mine, wrapping both our arms in front of my waist. I could feel his breath past my ear. Felt him hold it a moment, then pick up speed, full of desire. His lips, soft and warm, pressed into my temple, then moved down toward my jaw. Each kiss sent delicious shivers down my spine, down my arms. “Gabriella,” he moaned, each word a warm huff upon my skin. He leaned his face against mine, heavy, as if weak. “Forgive me, I cannot help myself. I want you. Want you for my own. Be my wife. Be mine.”
I closed my eyes in pain at his words and then turned, half wanting to break away, half wanting to reach up and invite him in for a kiss, an unbridled kiss. To give in to the madness, the desire, forget what was behind me. To stop fighting. I was so tired. So very tired of fighting, fighting, fighting. Would it not be easier in some way? To give in to this marriage? Maybe they were right. Maybe it’d force Siena to establish peace again with Firenze. Bring peace to the land…
And then what? Where did that leave my family? And Marcello? Marcello.
I leaned in to him, resting my face against his chest, feeling the ba-dump of his heartbeat, thinking. And he wrapped his arms around me and remained still, waiting, giving me time to think, stroking my back, my arms, holding his breath as if he wanted to say more and then thought better of it.
To be held by him felt good. Undeniably good. I’d have to be an ice queen to deny it. But it wasn’t the feeling of utter peace, total centeredness that I felt when Marcello held me. Slowly I drew away and looked up into his eyes. And within a second he knew. I saw flashes of pain, regret, guilt, sorrow in quick succession beneath his thick lashes. He lifted his finger to his lips, and then he touched mine and shook his head. Don’t say anything.
He lifted my chin and softly kissed me, lightly. There was no demand in it, only invitation. Just one more try, I thought. To see if I’d lean in. Kiss him back. But I gently pulled away. As our lips parted, I looked into his eyes, knowing the sorrow in my own. “If Marcello had not claimed my heart first, it might have worked,” I said regretfully.
“Might we not leave it to God?” He gestured around the room, the muscles in his cheeks tightening and a hint of bitterness entering his tone. “After all, we are here. And there is little chance for me to help you escape.”
“Nay,” I said quietly, understanding more and more. “Those opportunities are well past us.” Had he really wanted to help me—really and truly—he would’ve done it by now. Before we reached Rome. But deep down, if he was honest with himself, he really hadn’t wanted it. I knew that now.
“He’ll come for you,” Rodolfo said nonchalantly, lifting an orange and pulling a dagger from the rope at his waist to cut off a portion of peel, then slice out some flesh and place it in his mouth. “Before our vows are exchanged,” he said with derision, pointing at me with the knife, “Marcello will arrive.”
I shook my head. “He hasn’t had enough time.”
Rodolfo chewed and swallowed, then shrugged. “I say it again. Let us leave it to God. If he arrives in time, you’re meant for him. If not…” A smile pushed back some of his anger. “You have gambled in the past. Why not now?”
“Because the stakes are too high. Are they not?”
He considered me for a long moment, and his smile faded. “Indeed,” he said with a grave nod. His eyes met mine again. “Lord Vivaro shall be here within the hour to fetch you. Forgive me, m’lady. I have failed you in more ways than one.”
“You did what you felt you must.”
He hesitated, as if wrestling with the desire to cross the space between us and kiss me until I admitted I was just a tiny bit in love with him too.
But he didn’t. He didn’t.
Instead he turned and walked from the room without a backward glance, closing the door behind him like a sleeping baby was behind it.
I stared hard at the door, wondering just what had come down. A full minute later I finally moved numbly to the fruit bowl to grab a piece for the road. And discovered Rodolfo’s knife. I picked it up and glanced toward the door.
It hadn’t been left by accident. He was helping me. Giving me the tiniest bit of an opening, if I really wanted it. Was he thinking I’d try to fight my way out through the giant guards outside and all of Vivaro’s and Barbato’s men? Did he really think I’d try? Or did he simply want to erase the guilt over his deception toward me, toward Marcello, in this and yet… “Still end up with the girl,” I muttered, finishing my thought aloud. “Sorry, handsome. But I think I’ve somehow always been promised to another.”
I moved out to the ledge and almost lost my balance right away. I panted like I was in labor, trying to catch my breath and calm down my fluttering heart.
Yeah, it looked easier than it was. The ledge was six inches deep—a tad wider at the window wells. I discovered that having the length of a dollar bill was just not enough of a foundation, once a girl was out on it, ten feet above a portico. It was like being on top of a ladder on top of a crate. That tall.
And the portico roof beneath me was slightly pitched. If I fell, would I be able to stop rolling before I fell off the edge on the far side?
I tried to distract myself, to think of how wide a balance beam was and take comfort in the fact that I had a building behind me, even if my toes were sticking out over nothingness. But then I had totally flunked out of gymnastics. Lia was the graceful one. Me? Notsomuch. And the sandals? Not exactly rock-climbing soles.
Stubbornly I moved on. At least on this part of the building, I was shielded from the view of people below. I could hear them gathering. Laughing. Playfully shouting. Getting ready for a wedding. My wedding.
Thoughts of that got me to the first window. I dared to peek in and glimpsed a man inside, carefully combing his hair with an ivory comb while staring at himself in a looking glass. I straightened and waited for a moment, trying to ignore the goose bumps forming on my bare arms in the breeze, and counted to sixty before I looked again.
He was gone.
With a sigh of relief I moved past the window, knowing if I exited that room, I’d be right beside Mr. Big Black and Mean. I had to get farther away. Much farther away. And it was cold in the evening breeze, maybe fifty degrees, and there I was, out in a silk toga. I had to move to stay warm.
The volume was increasing below, I decided, as I edged onward. It sounded to me that Lord Vivaro had invited far more than what Barbato had wanted there. He’d turned it into a serious party. But then that fit the image of the guy. Were they all told to wear
togas?
I’d reached the next window. After a second to gather my courage, I peeked in. The shutters were mostly closed, but I could see a young couple making out—totally making out—and I smiled. I’d be past their window in a flash. And they were into each other wayyyy more than they were into the view. I moved on.
And now, ladies and gentlemen, I give you Window Three. I peeked in. It was empty. I quickly looked ahead at what I’d face next; the edge of Lord Vivaro’s palazzo was but four feet from his neighbor’s. Without the portico covering beneath me, I’d be thirty feet above the ground once I turned the corner. I glanced back at the room. Edging the shutters aside, I decided to jump in for a moment, catch my breath, and warm up a bit. I shakily climbed down into the room and stood against the far wall, panting, closing my eyes.
Lord, is there a better way? Show me. I need Your help. Show me. Protect me. Free me. Amen.
The prayer came easily. I decided that people in total Freak Out Mode were like that: Good pray-ers.
I continued to draw deep breaths like a deep-sea diver preparing for a twenty-foot plunge without a tank and rubbed my arms, willing them to warm up. It was risky, staying here. I had to get farther away while I had the chance.
But it was a total act of will to get back out on that ledge. I moved out, caught my balance, and looked out to the Forum, glad it was mostly deserted at this hour. The sun was already getting lower in the sky. Get going, Gabi. Go!
I didn’t stop until I’d turned the corner and foolishly looked down to the alley, three stories below. Servants moved in and out of a door, dumping dirty water and refuse on a pile. Thirty feet would be a long way to fall. I’m going to break both my legs…or become a quadriplegic…
Move, Gabi, I told myself. I didn’t have time to pause, and the last thing I needed was to be caught here, in the middle of a full meltdown. Move, move, move, I chanted silently, edging right, fighting the urge to move left and back around the corner, over the portico, where the fall would be much shorter. The only thing that eased my mind was that I could literally almost reach the neighboring building. Even though I couldn’t touch it, the sensation of its presence steadied me. It was far more comforting than staring out to the great expanse of the Forum.
After a while of shuffling along, I dared to look up and to my right, thinking I should’ve hit another window well by then.
I pulled up short at what I saw.
The bad news was that on this side of the building, there were no other windows. And it would be impossible for me to escape the front side of the palazzo. The guests at the front would be admiring the palazzo as they arrived, wondering if anyone they knew might be visible in the widows…Someone would be sure to see me.
I studied the columns at the corners, wondering if I could get a good enough grip to slide down to the next level, but quickly dismissed it. They were far too large to get a good grip on. But then I looked across at the neighboring palazzo. It was smaller than Lord Vivaro’s by half but almost as tall. And up ahead, there were three windows on this side of the building facing me.
I edged closer and looked down and into the windows, their shutters shut tight, with only a hint of light inside. Trying to keep the cold out, I thought, feeling the goose bumps roll down my chilled arms. I moved on, trying to get a glimpse of anyone, anything in the other two windows.
I got nothing.
I looked left, back from where I came. Then right, toward the front face of the palazzo. And down, where a kitchen boy dumped some fat and grease on a pile and then moved toward the Forum edge of the property to peek around the corner, up at all the guests. Even from over here on this side of the building, the party was getting louder, with more high-pitched laughter and shouting. How long would it be before they discovered I was missing?
I looked back to the neighboring building. Chances were, the shutters were as flimsy as Lord Vivaro’s, and I could crash through them without a whole lot of effort. They were slightly lower than where I was, which was helpful. But what would I find inside? Would they turn me over right away to Lord Vivaro? He had to have a pretty far reach. My only chance was to crash through, regain my balance, and run on through the palazzo before anyone realized who I was and tried to nab me.
I took a deep breath, tried to balance on one foot as I lifted my right foot up to quickly grab my dagger. I’m talking Seriously Risky Gymnastic Business. I thought if I had it in hand, I might feel stronger, more ready. But it proved impossible, given my position, and I gave up.
I refocused on the window across from me.
Four feet? I can do that.
But from a standing position? You’re going to miss. Fall to your death.
I stared at the window across from me. Nobody was in the alley now, for the first time in a while….
Before I could think about it another second, I leaped, shoulder-first.
CHAPTER 14
I remember the sensation of total freefall, with a forward edge, for too long a time. The catch of one leg on a stone ledge. The sound of splintering wood. Rolling, rolling. Something cutting my arm. The sound of breaking pottery. And then I was still.
Gradually I became aware of cold stone tiles beneath me.
The sound of an old man coughing. Wheezing.
Mentally I ran through my body from fingers to toes, squeezing and stretching, checking for broken bones, checking to see if I could move at all. It wasn’t every day I tried my hand at death-defying leaps. But I’d made it. All seemed in order.
When I heard the cough again, fully realized I wasn’t alone, I sat up quickly, reaching for Rodolfo’s dagger as I rose quickly to my feet.
Whoa, dizzy, I thought, fighting to look like I was anything but. My vision gradually settled and centered on an old man, covered in blankets, sitting by a small, crackling fire.
He was smiling, smiling so much that his eyes lit up, but he was gasping for breath. “We…we…have…a door,” he joked.
I’d probably surprised him into his wheezing attack, and instantly I felt a flood of guilt.
I lowered my dagger and lifted my free hand. “Forgive me, m’lord. If I’d had a choice…”
He continued to smile and cocked a gray brow. “A-apparently.”
“You are the master of this house?” I asked gently, to which he nodded. “Are there others here?”
“J-just s-servants,” he managed. He covered his mouth with a fist, fighting to not dissolve in another fit of coughing.
One of those servants might be on their way now, if they’d heard me crash my way in. But then these big palazzos, with their stone floors, weren’t like homes in modern days. My assault might’ve just sounded like a thump to them…which might make them think the old man had fallen. My eyes went to the now-broken shutters—I couldn’t shut them, they’d have to be replaced—to the table I’d overturned and broken pottery across the floor.
We both heard the slap-slap-slap of sandals on the marble floor in the hall.
“Q-quick, h-hide,” the old man said.
I scanned the room and saw that the only decent hiding place or escape was a narrow door beside the hallway door. I hurried over, well aware that I rushed to a place that would be but five feet from where the newcomer would enter. I’d just slipped behind the second door—which appeared to be a narrow staircase leading to the roof—when I heard the first door open. “M’lord, what has happened here?” cried a young woman.
“I—I fell,” the old man said.
“Through the window?” asked the girl, obviously looking over at the shutters.
“I g-grabbed at them, t-trying to break my fall. But failed.”
It was a flimsy excuse, but if he was lord of the house, no servant would argue with him. “Are you hurt, m’lord? Should I fetch the physician?”
“Nay, nay,” he gasped. “I s-simpl
y need a moment to myself. Let me be. Return in half an hour.”
“As you wish, m’lord,” she said. “I’ll send a boy to clean up the mess and bring you fresh water.”
“Good, good.”
I could almost see her bow, her retreat. And then she was gone again. But I waited until the boy arrived, did as he was told to do, and disappeared again.
“You can come out now.”
Tentatively I opened the door.
He smiled at me, already much improved. “Do you wish to tell me who you are?”
“I am a woman being forced to marry a man I do not love.”
He cocked a brow and pursed his lips, considering. “There have been many before you who have endured the same. Many who will follow.”
“But I do not wish to be one of them,” I said. I went to the door and cracked it open to peer down the hall.
“You are Lady Betarrini.”
I looked back at him. “I am.”
A slow smile spread across his face again. “Lord Vivaro will be most distraught over your disappearance.”
“Indeed he will,” I agreed.
“Fortunately for you, I find my neighbor most tiresome. And there have been few occasions in which I have even favored Firenze over Siena.”
It was my turn to smile. “Then I believe we might become good friends.”
He leaned forward, and I stepped across the room to take his hand. “We already are, m’lady. I am Lord Zinicola.”
“It is an honor, m’lord,” I said with a small laugh. “Someday, I shall send you funds to reimburse you for damages.”
“There is little need,” he said, waving me off. “I am an old man who could die any day, with no children and more money than I need. Your arrival is the most interesting thing to happen to me in years.”
The River of Time Series Page 75
