I finally took a ragged breath, choked by my tears and panic, and then another, sounding more the asthmatic than any warrior. I forced myself to my feet as Luca and then Lia disappeared behind the gates again.
Held my breath while I couldn’t see any of them for a second, two, three…
Sobbed again and ran forward, dragging my sword like a drunken knight, madly seeking one, just one of my people in the four-foot gap. But all I saw were Roman soldiers, Roman soldiers, Roman soldiers…
I paused, wondering if my loved ones were gone, dead.
A chill ran down my back.
What good is freedom if not one of the people I love is with me?
CHAPTER 20
I was running again, a foreign cry in my throat—had I morphed into a real wolf now?—charging toward the gate. Twenty feet away, fifteen, ten, when I was again waylaid.
An arm encircled my waist and hauled me backward, kicking and screaming.
Gradually I understood the voice behind me was one of a friend, calming, soothing, desperately trying to reach me. “M’lady, ’tis I, Georgii.”
“And I, Lutterius,” said another.
I looked up through my tears, and gradually focused on the first, and then his twin brother—the funny scouts that had led the way to Sansicino. Georgii looked into my eyes, as if knowing my thoughts exactly. “Let us see to it, m’lady.”
“Remain here,” said his brother.
He gruffly handed me to a third man as they charged forward, swords raised. My heart pulsed painfully as twenty of our men joined them.
My eyes rose to a silver-haired, older knight I recognized. Captain Pezzati. “M’lady,” he said, giving me that heart-softening smile, “your trial is at an end. We are here.” He gestured behind him, and for the first time, I saw that we were not alone.
Behind him was row after row of knights, Siena’s finest, on horseback, on foot, carrying torches, flags, shields, swords, bows.
A hundred, no, a thousand strong.
I gasped and fell to my knees, my hands over my mouth, trying to catch my breath as my tears began anew.
The man bent, caught me by my waist, and lifted me to a standing position. He slowly turned toward the men, and they cheered. “Lift your sword!” Captain Pezzati said in my ear. “Marcello’s men need you now. To know that you are well. Whole.”
It was about the last thing I wanted to do—to raise my thirty-pound sword when my whole body felt about as strong as a giant wet noodle.
But I did it. For my family. For Marcello and Luca.
And to be honest, even with the captain beside me, helping to hold my noodle-like elbow up, tears streamed down my cheeks as I stared across the men, lifting my sword higher and higher. It was what I saw beyond the Sienese knights in uniform that brought on the waterworks. Not only was the paid guard here. Hundreds of citizens followed behind.
“She-Wolf! She-Wolf! She-Wolf!”
I turned and was vaguely aware that Captain Pezzati continued to hold me upright, like a ventriloquist with a doll come to life.
I dragged my eyes to the gate and saw movement. Was that—?
And then I saw them striding through, their horses lost. I recognized them by silhouette. Mom, with Lia. Dad. Luca.
Marcello and the twins.
How had all my loved ones escaped?
“Whoa,” said the captain beside me as I tried to move, faltered. I pushed his hands away as if my weakness was his fault. I stumbled forward, rose, and limped through the mushy grass toward them, knowing the guy was right behind me.
Mom and Lia reached me first, and we fell into a tearful embrace. Dad came next, wrapping us all with his long arms. I stood there a moment, despite the circumstances, caught in the sensation of being enveloped, entwined with the three people I’d loved longest.
Then Luca was there, shyly taking Lia’s hand. She stepped away, a little bashful, letting Luca wrap his arm around her shoulders as they walked toward the men. The men cheered anew and then hushed as the Roman guards began filing out, taking formation before the wall. Hundreds poured out, like dry sand from a funnel.
I turned to face Marcello and the twins, then I stepped forward, and he was sweeping me into his arms, lifting me, cradling my neck, leaning down to kiss me soundly. The men exploded in cheers. Even my dad was laughing, in that unique way that was his, what I had so missed when he was gone.…
But my eyes were on Marcello as he carried me, striding toward the men, who fell into tighter formation. I lifted my hand to his cheek and smiled. “You have no idea how good it is to be in your arms, Marcello. How much I missed you.”
“Did it feel like half your heart was gone?”
“Yes.” I nodded.
“Hmm. I might have experienced that. And more.” He set me on my feet in front of the men, but his eyes were still on me. “Except my whole heart was gone.” He looked up to the twins, on horseback. “See Lady Gabriella and her family, as well as the priest, to the back of our troops. Guard them yourselves, and bring twelve with you to make sure no one gets to them.”
“Consider it done, m’lord,” said Georgii. He offered his arm to me, and reluctantly I let him lead me through the sea of men that split before us. I glanced back for one more view of Marcello before the men blocked him from my sight again. I noticed that Lutterius, who followed behind, looked as though he was being punished, cut out of the action.
“Come now, ’tis not that bad, Lutterius,” I said. “Many, many people wish to kill us. I’d wager you’ll have to wield your sword to save us again before sunup.” I giggled, recognizing that I was punchy, silly, but unable to stop myself.
“Pay her no heed,” Lia said, rolling her eyes. “She has endured much.”
“’Twould be an honor to defend you, m’lady,” Georgii said. “We failed you once; we shall not fail you again.”
“You did not fail us,” I said tiredly. “We were merely outwitted in Sansicino. For a moment.” I raised a finger as well as an eyebrow. “That is what I shall not let happen again.”
“Until it does,” Lia said with a laugh.
I giggled with her. She shook her head, and we finally reached the last group of men. Several huddled around Father Tomas, and they rose as we neared.
I fell to my knees on the blanket that was spread beneath Tomas and felt for his pulse as the men cheered behind us, responding to something Marcello was yelling a hundred yards away. He was revving them up, getting them psyched—for what? To take on the remnant of Rome? I glanced over my shoulder, and Dad looked down at me. “Let him handle it,” he said lowly in English. “He knows what he’s doing.”
I held his gaze a moment and smiled. So he liked him. Respected him. A little.
I turned back to Tomas and leaned down, listening at his mouth to hear how he was breathing, but I had to rely on the rise and fall of his chest instead to know that he was still alive. It was far too noisy to hear. Mom kneeled on the other side of him. “See anything?” I asked as I pointed. “His wound was that side, that shoulder.”
“Some blood,” she said. “Arrow wound?”
“Yes. It went clean through.” I reached under my skirt for my dagger, then remembered it had been taken at Lord Vivaro’s. “Do you have a knife?”
She smiled and reached for her own, strapped to her calf. “Some girl taught me to carry one here. ’Tis quite handy.” She set it in my open palm and I went over to Father Tomas’s head and began cutting away the fabric of his brown robe. Once I had a flap cut out, I gently tugged on it and winced as it stuck to his skin, lifting it upward like a tent. Blood immediately began to spread again. “Dang,” I said. “I cauterized it, but his robe…it’s stuck in it. Fused with it, almost. We’re going to need to get it off of him.”
“Let’s see how his back is first,” she said. L
uca helped us lift him to a sitting position, and I quickly cut one shoulder from his robe, exposing the entire front and back.
“Well, that’s an entirely new fashion for a priest,” Luca quipped, eyebrows raised.
I gave him a smile but then gently edged the fabric away, wincing as if it was my own skin tearing with the movement. “Can someone fetch us water? And clean bandages?”
“I could sew him up,” Lia said, hovering over us.
“You’ve done that once,” I said, remembering the giant whipstitches she’d sewn into my side. “I think your surgical days are over.”
“Fine,” she said, sniffing. “But don’t say I didn’t offer.”
The men cheered again. Then we heard the Romans, doing the same.
“Come on, Marcello,” I muttered to myself as I stared at the amount of fabric still stuck in Father Tomas’s wound. “Tell ’em we have no fight with them, and let’s go home.”
“He’s lost a great deal of blood,” Mom said doubtfully.
“He is my friend. And I will not lose anyone I love this night.”
“Well, okay,” she said.
I closed my eyes, and I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I’m sorry.” I looked at Tomas from the side, hunched over, chin on chest. “This man, Mom…he has more to teach me. I feel it, deep inside me. He’s already taught me some things that will stay with me forever. I don’t want to lose him—not just for me. But for all of us. He’s supposed to be with us. Just as clearly as we’re supposed to be here, in this time. Does that make sense?”
Her eyes met mine across the broad expanse of his back. “I think it does.”
“Good. Then…I’m so tired, I can hardly see straight. Can you see to him? See him through this night?”
“We will,” Dad said, crouching beside me. He touched my shoulder. “Why don’t you lie down, Gabi, before you fall over?”
“I think…I think that might…”
Be a good idea…
So it was fairly uncool for a battle hero, the symbol of a province, the source of Siena’s pride, to basically pass out.
But there it was—I did.
Flat out, cold.
I knew it, remembered it all, as I came to, feeling my shoulder and hamstring ache with every bounce of the stretcher I was on, suspended between two horses. I looked up, saw my sister on the horse behind me, his nose over my calves as he walked, and lay back, groaning. I was basically suspended on a stretcher that hung from the rump of one horse and hung at an angle to attach beneath the neck of Lia’s. I’d seen it once or twice in battle.
My head ached as if it were splitting open.
“Wh-what happened?” I forced myself to raise my head and squint at Lia, a brilliant blur of light with the sun right behind her.
“Fainted, passed out, dissolved,” Lia said, teasing me.
“M-Marcello?” I tried to look up and over my shoulder, but realized then that I was strapped in. Probably so I wouldn’t fall off.
“Nay, ’tis me, m’lady,” Luca’s voice said. He was on the front horse. He paused. “Marcello’s on his way. I see him now.”
“What about the b-battle?”
“The Romans gave it up. Retreated behind their wall again.” I looked to my right and saw Georgii and knew before I looked to the left that Lutterius would be on my other side, fulfilling their promise to guard us. “They weren’t intent on a fight, not truly,” Georgii said.
“Good,” I said. “I’ve had my fill of battles.”
“Once they lost you, they lost their fight,” said Lutterius. “It was always about you, m’lady. And ’twasn’t even their claim to make. They were merely puppets, working for Lord Vivaro…”
“Yes, well,” I said, “I am glad it came to a peaceful end. If you’d be so kind as to assist me, I can now rise.” I struggled beneath the ropes, instantly feeling claustrophobic when they felt as though they were growing tighter.
It brought back too many memories, of being captured, hauled away, imprisoned…
“Hold on!” Lia cried, bringing her horse to a stop. “Gabriella, stop!”
I was frantic, beside myself, out of myself, trying to claw my way to freedom, kicking, crying.
“Gabi, wait!” Mom said sternly, now beside me, edging past Georgii.
I stilled at her voice, panting. I could feel my nostrils flaring, like a cornered, lassoed wolf. She set to my ropes, easily untying one, then the other.
I flung them aside, stepped off the stretcher, and stumbled. The stretcher was higher off the ground than I thought. Lutterius grabbed my arm, intending to help me, but I brushed him off and took several strides away, my hands at the sides of my head.
I was angry, furious, trembling I was so mad…and yet it wasn’t at them…
I cried out then. Screamed at the sky, releasing all the pent-up fear and frustration and fury inside me. And then I screamed again. I don’t know how long I went on before I realized that our entire army stood still, waiting for me to stop, wondering what was wrong with me. I glanced up at them and then away, to the hills. Was that Orvieto, high on the cliffs? I glimpsed Marcello on horseback, racing toward me.
He knew, then. I was awake. And losing it.
I panted, hyperventilating, thinking of the men who had been just west of here, coming after me, encircling me, closing in.
I stumbled away, in the direction of a group of trees in the middle of a field, ignoring my family’s calls, remembering Captain Ruisi striding toward me, batting away my strikes, so easily tossing them aside, taking hold, taking me…
And then he was there, grabbing me again.
I screamed and kicked, fighting his hold, but he held strong, unmoving. Kissing me. Whispering to me. “Gabriella, Gabriella, ’tis me. Your own. Beloved, come back to me. You are safe. You are well. Gabriella…”
I stilled, but I went on weeping, crying as hard as the day I learned Dad died.
But it was Marcello who held me, not Captain Ruisi.
I slowly understood. It was like one had morphed into the other. Blond hair became brown. Blue eyes, chocolate.
“Mar-Marcello,” I sobbed.
His grip eased as he sensed me relax, and I turned and buried my face in his chest, weeping. “I…I was so frightened,” I explained. “The ropes—it brought back…”
“Memories,” he finished for me, his tone tight, even as his hand stroked my head, my face, my back. “’Tis all right, beloved. All right. All will be well in time. Shh, now. Shh.”
“They threatened…I thought…you and I…”
“Would never be together again,” he said.
I nodded. A ridiculous, embarrassing sob left my throat, and he pulled me closer instead of pushing me away. He picked me up in his arms then and carried me the rest of the way to the grove of oak trees. He sat down on a fallen log and cradled me close, held me tight, until there were no more tears to wipe away.
This was how out of it I was: I didn’t even care that I was red-faced, swollen, and snot-nosed from my sob-fest. All I cared about was him, his arms, holding me. Here, I felt safe, for the first time in what felt like years.
“Hold me like this forever,” I begged, sounding like a forlorn, lost little girl, but unable to stop my pathetic pleading.
“I’d like to,” he said tenderly, running his hand through my hair and tucking a tendril behind my ear, “but there is the fact that we’re still a day’s journey from home.” He gave me a rueful smile. “Would you have us abide in this tiny grove forever? When we are yet in Umbria, not Toscana?”
I closed my eyes and sniffed, so weary again that I thought I might nod off right there. “Wherever you are is home to me, Marcello,” I mumbled.
He bent and reverently kissed my eyelids, first one and then the other, and I left them closed, w
anting to remember the feel of his lips upon them. “And my home is with you, Gabriella,” he whispered.
I felt him stiffen, and I opened my eyes as he raised me to a sitting position.
My parents.
“She has come to herself again,” Marcello said, awkwardly trying to set me on my feet from his lap.
“We are grateful to you, m’lord,” Mom said, but her eyes—intense with fear—were on me. Dad frowned beside her. “We can see to her now.”
“As you wish, m’lady,” Marcello said.
He took my hand and set it in Mom’s. Dad’s arm came around my waist.
“I shall not be far, Gabriella,” Marcello said. “And this night you shall rest in my mother’s chambers in Castello Forelli. With a few days’ rest, all will be well. You have been most sorely taxed. Far more has been demanded of you than any woman I know. It ends this day.”
He bowed his head and then eased away. He was promising safety. Recuperation time.
Exactly what I was so desperate for.
But why was I feeling like something else entirely had just come down?
CHAPTER 31
I awakened in Lady Forelli’s chambers. I sat up and blinked my eyes several times, wondering if I was still dreaming. There were parts of the room that I recognized as that of Castello Forelli—the gray-white stone blocks, the wood of the window casings—but I’d never been in these quarters before. Maybe they’d sealed it off after Marcello’s mother died; maybe it was too painful for Marcello’s dad to have anyone in it.
I was in the middle of an enormous bed with four elaborately carved posts. Beneath me was some sort of feather layer—it was, by far, the most comfortable mattress I’d been on since I’d arrived. Most were straw ticks, stiff and a bit itchy. On top of me was another down-stuffed blanket, and a wool one on top of that. I pulled them up to my chin, feeling the chill of the massive room, even with a fire burning low in a corner fireplace.
On the far wall was a tapestry, twenty feet wide, twelve feet high, depicting lords and ladies on a picnic, but the intricate threads in colors of gray, blue, and white made the warm scene feel cold to me. The only other decoration on the walls was a crucifix, in silver.
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