Then he glanced behind me, at Ruisi. “Release her. At once.”
Captain Ruisi hesitated and then did as he said, taking a step backward.
“M-m’lord?” the cardinal sputtered.
But Rodolfo’s eyes never left mine. He lifted my hand to his lips. “I cannot,” he said again, looking toward the cardinal as if the matter was done. But he still held my hand.
Barbato and Vivaro were in a full-on tizzy. “What is this?” Lord Barbato blustered, coming near. “You most certainly shall! You gave me your word!”
“But she will not give me hers,” he said sadly, glancing at me one more time. “Out of respect for her valor and courage—this woman has fought for Toscana and nearly given her life, time and time again, for it. That alone should give her the right to marry whom she wishes.” He paused, and his voice went lower, more emotional, even as he smiled. “And it’s clear to me that her heart beats for one man alone. And sadly that is not me.”
“Nay,” said a voice behind us and to our left. “I pray ’tis for me.”
It was a voice I knew well.
Marcello.
My eyes widened, and I turned full around, even as Captain Ruisi drew his sword. It was almost as if I didn’t care. I tried to edge past him, to better see in the dim light, but Rodolfo drew me back.
Marcello was striding toward us, pulling his hood off, drawing a sword from beneath his cape.
Rodolfo and Lord Barbato reached for theirs, too, but then Lia, Luca, Mom, and Dad pulled their hoods back, all displaying weapons. “I would not do that,” Luca said, easily striking away Barbato’s impotent sword. “You don’t want to see the Betarrinis angry. It is most unpleasant.”
Lia moved forward, arrow drawn, to cover the noblemen Lord Vivaro had invited to the ceremony—or at least, those who’d managed to arrive. Marcello, Luca, and my family had obviously removed a few of them and borrowed their hooded capes.
I pushed Captain Ruisi’s dagger away and fell into Marcello’s arms. “You’re here. You’re here,” I said. I couldn’t manage much more through my tears, as I inhaled his scent of wood smoke and leather and spice. How had I forgotten the power of his embrace, the total rightness of it? I shoved away the guilt of being held by Rodolfo.
He pressed my lips to his for a quick kiss, his hand holding the back of my head. “You and your infernal need to rush toward your bridal day,” he teased. “I keep telling you I wish to marry you. Let us see it done in Siena. Properly. In a gown that is clean.”
“Let us make our escape and speak of marriage later, shall we?” Dad asked from a few feet away.
I moved over to him, where he was waving a sword at several men now on their knees. He embraced me with one arm, and Mom wrapped a free arm around me too. “You guys shouldn’t have come,” I said. Not meaning it at all, of course, but seriously scared now, for all of us.
“You are fools,” Lord Barbato bit out. “You shall never escape this basilica. Every entrance is covered by Lord Vivaro’s men.”
I glanced at Lord Vivaro, who looked most pleased with this latest development—he’d have quite a story to tell at parties—but he was careful to nod fiercely after Barbato’s comment. “You might have entered in disguise, but you shall not escape. Every entrance is covered,” he said gravely. “Please, allow Lord Greco to complete his nuptials with Lady Gabriella, and we shall all retire to my palazzo as friends.” He threw his hands wide and smiled.
Lia let out a low growl and moved her arrow to the base of his fat throat. “What do you think, Gabi? Would you like to see these nuptials through?”
“Not this day,” I said.
“How about on the morrow?” Marcello asked, smiling and lifting my hand to his lips. “If I am your groom?”
“Hold that eHarmony thought,” Lia whispered in English. “We gotta get out of here.” She turned her attention to Marcello. “If their men outside gain word that all is not well in here, it shall be a bloodbath, church or not.” I stared at her for a sec. My lil’ sis was growing up. Seriously. Suddenly she was every inch the medieval warrioress. I wished I felt some of the strength she was oozing. With the appearance of my family, I was suddenly tired, so tired. Wanting to let my guard down and crumbling.
“Surrender,” Barbato demanded with a small smile. “Or die trying to depart.”
“You are hardly in the position to demand anything,” Marcello said in a harsh tone. He leaned closer. “By the way, I have my castle back. Your displaced troops are with Paratore. And now I have my lady.”
Barbato stared back at him, hatred in his eyes. “It shall never stand.”
“Tie them up against the columns,” Marcello said to my family, before returning his attention to Barbato. “It shall stand. As far as Siena is concerned, my brother paid a far greater price than was warranted, a blood price for Castello Forelli.”
“And so keep your castle,” Barbato said dismissively, as Dad dragged him backward toward a massive granite column. “You shall not retake your lady. She belongs to us now. I will see her wed to a nobleman of Firenze—either Lord Greco or another—” he said, casting a venomous look in Rodolfo’s direction, “—or I shall see her dead.”
“If any further harm comes to Lady Gabriella, I shall see you dead, m’lord,” Marcello said, shaking his finger at Barbato. The veins in his neck bulged.
“You wouldn’t dare,” Barbato said, lifting his chin in defiance.
Marcello lifted his sword, his face a mass of fury. But I grabbed his arm and stepped between them. “Nay, love. He’s not worth it. Kill him, and there will simply be another Fiorentini ready to take his place.”
Marcello sighed. “Although it’d be most satisfying.”
I gave him a little smile. “Agreed.”
Luca returned, and his eyes moved between Marcello, Barbato, and me as if he was thinking, What’d I miss? “All exits are guarded.”
We paused, as a group, trying to think it through.
“There is another way,” said a voice from behind the curve of a massive, green granite column. He moved forward, lurching in his gait, and I saw that it was Father Tomas, pain etched in his broad, white face.
“Tomas!” I cried, rushing toward him. I came under his arm, giving him some support.
“This way,” he said, pointing to the altar.
I frowned at him in confusion but walked with him. Marcello came over to us. “Allow me, Gabriella.” He nodded to Tomas. “He is your friend?”
“He is,” I said, but I was eyeing Rodolfo as we passed him. Did he want out? Wish to come with us, leave Firenze behind? What would he endure there, when he returned, having betrayed Lord Barbato?
“’Twas but an idle dream, m’lady, you and I,” he said with a gentle smile, but his eyes bore a measure of pain. “’Tis your truest path, to be with Lord Marcello.” His brown gaze shifted to his old friend. “By your life?”
“By my life,” Marcello returned, fist to his chest. “Gabriella shall reach safety.” He paused. “Come with us, Rodolfo. I’d see you well rewarded in Siena.”
“Go with him, traitor,” Barbato called out from ten feet away. “I shall see you hanged!”
Rodolfo looked over at him with tired eyes and then back to Marcello. “I cannot. Firenze holds my heart, as it has all along. The only treasonous act I’ve committed is refusing to claim a woman’s heart.” His eyes flicked to me, then back to Marcello. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “I do not believe my brothers in Firenze shall hold that against me. Not for long, anyway.”
“My debt to you has doubled,” Marcello said, clasping his arm.
“There are no debts between brothers,” Rodolfo said.
The two men shared a long look, then we turned and Marcello helped Father Tomas to a staircase, directly behind the altar, then down the steep steps. We weren�
�t far behind—me, Mom and Dad, Lia and Luca. The last thing I saw of Rodolfo was a glimpse of the broad expanse of his back as he strode down the center of St. John’s, Lords Barbato and Vivaro yelling after him, while Captain Ruisi, the cardinal, and five other men struggled to get free.
I hoped Rodolfo would find love someday. I hoped he’d be safe.
The temperature dived with each step we took down into an ancient grotto. We gaped for a moment at the ancient face of rock—the two crypts, ornately carved of purple granite, and a line of limestone crypts. The graves of popes? Kings? Saints? But then Luca was tearing down the stairs behind us. “Our escape has been discovered. We must be off.”
Marcello turned toward Father Tomas. “Where?”
“That way,” said the priest, panting, looking a ghastly shade of gray.
We all looked toward a door with a big lock on it. Another tunnel.
“Where does it lead?” Marcello asked.
“Does it matter? ’Tis the only way!”
“You do not know,” Marcello said.
Father Tomas shrugged. “I had only heard of it from another who once served here. The clerics who serve here like to have a way out, should they be threatened.”
“Sounds like an escape route to me,” Luca said, glancing upward. We could hear the shouts of men.
Lia moved to the staircase, our shield, and drew an arrow. “I can give you a few minutes’ lead.”
“I’ll stay with her,” Dad said, giving Luca no opportunity. Luca turned, a knowing smile on his face. If Dad was protective over me, he was twice as protective over my little sis. Dad pulled out his sword, standing behind her.
Luca took Tomas’s arm over his shoulder to help him walk. “Do not fret, Father. This group has good experience hauling ill men through long, dark tunnels.”
I laughed under my breath. It was good, so good to be with all of them again. Together, I felt like we could do anything—face any enemy, make any escape.
I heard the thrum of Lia’s bowstring. A man cried out behind us, then rolled halfway down the steps, dead.
“Go!” Lia cried.
Marcello struck the iron lock, again and again, with the hilt of his sword, until it finally broke loose. He swung open the heavy door and then glanced back.
“Here,” Mom said, handing him a lit candle. She must’ve grabbed it from the altar upstairs. Always thinking, my mom, planning ahead…
Marcello took it gratefully, lit a torch at the end of the tunnel, broke off the candle and handed it back to Mom to light hers, as he tossed aside the gold candlestick. “Let it be said that the only thing we took from a church was a bride and some beeswax.” With a wink he took my hand in his, and we ran down the tunnel, with Luca hauling Tomas behind us, followed by Mom, then, finally, Dad and Lia. About fifty meters in, we came to another door.
“See if you can bar it once we’re on the other side!” Marcello called, rushing headlong down the tunnel. We knew that if Lia had given up her post, knights were surely already making their way in after us. A good archer might be able to pick off those of us at the back, even in the dark. The shaft was that straight.
We rushed through the doorway. I took half a breath when we heard the clang of it shut behind Lia and Dad.
“You do not know how glad I am to be with you again, Gabriella,” Marcello said over his shoulder, between pants.
“Only half as glad as I, m’lord,” I said. I grinned, feeling crazy—like we were running through a field of daisies, instead of for our lives. That insanely invincible kind of thing. Except on steroids. We ran for ten, then fifteen minutes, at a distinctly downward angle, until we abruptly met a closed door. We only narrowly stopped in time, so fast were we going. It had to be dark on the other side—there was no illuminated edge.
Marcello traced the frame of the door with the torch and then cursed under his breath, wiping his upper lip of sweat.
“What?”
“I can’t find a latch. It may be locked on the other side,” he said, giving it a shove with his shoulder. But it didn’t budge.
Luca and Father Tomas limped into our circle of light. We could see Mom’s bouncing torch, fifty feet beyond them. Luca unlooped Tomas’s arm from around his shoulders and led him to a seat, ten feet back into the tunnel. “Shall we?” he asked Marcello.
“I supposed we must,” my man said with a grin. He drew me back to Father Tomas, then pulled a sword from a sheath on his back. “I believe this is yours, m’lady,” he said.
I was almost as glad to have my broadsword back in my hands as I was to be with my people. I instantly felt stronger, more capable of taking on what was ahead. Whatever. I was happily buying the lie. Mom, Dad, and Lia arrived, and we heard the clang of the heavy door behind us. Mom glanced at me and hurriedly stomped out her torch. Not that it mattered much—Marcello still had his. We all moved to the edges of the tunnel, knowing an archer would try to send his first arrow down the center.
Marcello handed me the torch. Lia and I stood behind our guys, who stood shoulder to shoulder.
Judging from the noise behind us, we’d only have one chance at this. Please, God, please, God, please, God…
“One, two, three,” Marcello said. They ran toward the iron door at the end, and struck it together, Marcello with his left shoulder, Luca with his right.
The door immediately collapsed outward, with them on top of it.
Lia and I ran past them, all tough and SWAT-like, into a tiny piazza with a well at the center, searching in all directions for knights who would attack. But we only saw a tiny old woman, a cured ham in her hands. Her toothless mouth dropped open as she stared at us. But Marcello and Luca were already on the move. Clutching his shoulder as if it pained him, Marcello took my hand as Father Tomas, Mom, and Dad emerged. Luca resumed his position under Tomas’s arm, and Marcello looked back at him. “Do you know where we are?” he asked the priest, glancing about the piazza. All around us were two-story houses, making it impossible to guess our location.
He shook his head. “I am a man of Firenze and the countryside. I’ve spent precious little time in Roma.”
“We must get to Piazza Vesuvius,” Marcello demanded of the little old woman. “How far is that?”
She drew up to her full height of perhaps four feet, ten inches, and gave him a Don’t-You-Be-Impolite-With-Me look. In Italia, no young man spoke to older women in such a manner. I heard him groan, and he left my side to look down each of the four ways out of the piazza, seeking a landmark.
“La chiedo scusa, ma siamo in pericolo,” I tried. I beg your pardon. But we are in danger… “Can you tell us how to get to the Piazza Vesuvius, please?”
She gave Marcello another grandmotherly look of reproach and then glanced at me, in my crazy toga gown and hair down, sword in hand. “Amdiamoci.” That way, she said in a tone that said enough with the crazy, rude kids these days, hooking a thumb over her shoulder, toward one cobblestone street. She narrowly stepped aside to watch us all head out in a rush.
Dimly I wondered how long it would take her to connect the news of the second escape of Lady Betarrini from a forced wedding ceremony with the people she’d seen this night. I shivered as we reached the end of the street and saw the Tiber River. With one glance Marcello had his bearings, and after tucking my sword in his second sheath, he abruptly pulled me left.
We hurried as fast as we could, walking single file—except for Luca and Tomas—down the road that bordered the river. How far? I wondered. But I dared not ask. We were staying silent, trying not to attract any more attention than necessary.
But the bells behind us were ringing in alarm, and I kept getting curious looks at my dirty toga and hair—I was drawing entirely too much attention.
“We have to find you new clothes,” Marcello said.
“A decoy,” I returned
. “Let us find a woman about my height, with dark hair. You have gold with you?”
He smiled back into my eyes, figuring out my plan. “I do. You intend to spend it?”
“I hope to.” We hurried along, but few women were out at this hour, and those that we met were too short, too fat, too thin…until we met one that looked about right. “Perdonami,” I said. Excuse me. I touched her arm, and she glanced at me in such alarm and distaste, I took a breath in surprise. It was then I realized that everyone on the street believed I was a prostitute.
Marcello took over. “Ho una proposta per lei.” I have a deal for you. “I’ll give you two gold florins if you trade your gown for my lady’s costume.”
She laughed as if he were crazy and looked me up and down, then back to him. “Her costume is worth nothing to me.”
“But it is worth a great deal to us. Please, sell us your dress. Exchange it with my lady, and I shall pay you.”
“Nay. If my neighbors, my friends were to see me in such a dress—”
“Three florins.”
A gold florin had to be enough to feed a large family for what? A month? A year?
“Five,” she dared.
“Four,” he said, nudging her into a shop, me right behind. “But you must swear you’ll wear the toga until morning.”
“For four florins? I’d wear about anything,” she quipped, looking back at him in the doorway.
Marcello smiled and told Luca and Lia to take the others to the stables and wait for us there, and then he followed us in. He slipped a coin over the merchant’s counter, lifting a finger to his lips, and held a curtain aside to the narrow back storeroom, urging me to hurry. He let it drop closed behind me. In the gap between the curtain and door casing, I could see his back as he turned to guard us.
The girl turned to me and I hurriedly unhooked a line of twenty buttons down the dress, then untied the rope at my waist, smiling as I saw that it had left a line of white where it had protected the dirt-stained cloth. I really was the dirtiest bride on record.…
The River of Time Series Page 80
