We sat there for a long moment, just staring at each other. It was silly, really. But we couldn’t stop ourselves. It was as if we both wanted to be certain that what we were seeing was real. That we could believe our eyes. He really was crazy-handsome. Totally studly in the leather chest armor, a loose coil of hair curling over one side of his face. He’d obviously run right up from the courtyard.
“It suits you, this room,” he said, nodding beyond me, then staring at me again. “You look like a princess.”
I shifted. “It’s not odd, to have me in your mother’s quarters?”
“It’s not odd in that the intended lady of this castle is in her rightful place.”
I smiled, acknowledging What He Was Saying.
“You are well?” he asked, tucking my hair behind my ear.
“Better than I was,” I said, a little embarrassed over what had happened out there, among the oaks. “Forgive me, Marcello. I wasn’t myself—”
“I know that, Gabriella,” he said, now holding my hand in both of his. He slipped off the edge of the bed and kneeled beside it, placing his forehead on my fingers.
I paused. “Marcello?” What was wrong? I held my breath over his hesitation.
“Can you ever forgive me, Gabriella?” he begged, looking up at me, eyes wide and sorrowful. “I failed you. Failed you in letting them take you.”
“Oh, Marcello,” I said, rolling over and touching the top of his head as he bowed it again. “’Twasn’t your fault, beloved. Try as you might, you cannot be everywhere at once.”
“But I was to be your protector. I am your protector,” he said, shaking his head.
I sighed and leaned back, feeling so tired that I thought I might pass out again. What was wrong with me? Mono? Some sort of Time Travel virus? Seriously. I felt sick.
“Marcello, I insisted on going. You cannot take responsibility for those things you do not control. And you need to know that, as your lady, I have my own mind. If you wish to control me…” I shook my head on the pillow and looked up to the ceiling. I didn’t have the strength for this conversation. Not now. For the first time I noticed the ceiling was not only painted a deep blue, but decorated with thousands of delicate, golden stars. “Did your mother like stars?”
He glanced up with me. “She loved them. Once, when she was away to Siena, my father hired a fresco artist to do that, surprising her upon her return.”
I smiled at the romantic gesture. Dimly I remembered a constellation chart in Fortino’s den. His mother’s work?
“She’d spend night after night up on the top of the wall with all torches doused so she could see better. On the best nights Father would take her to the hills, and they would lie on a blanket and watch as the stars drifted across the night sky.” He gave me a tender smile. “I come from a line of men who fall for women with their eyes on the far horizon.”
“My good fortune, that.”
He paused. “Do you feel up to joining us in the Hall for supper? Or should I send a servant up with a tray?”
I hated feeling like the Weakling Upstairs, but I really doubted my own strength at that point. Maybe I really do have mono…
“A tray, then?” he guessed. I could see the shadows of fear in his eyes, despite his best efforts.
“Only if you’ll join me.”
He brightened. “I shall return in an hour.”
We ate, mostly in silence, sitting side by side in front of the fire. I’d drifted off again while he was gone and was feeling half awake. And there was an odd awareness that he and I had never been alone together to eat. It felt strangely…intimate. And that reaction made it feel odder still. What was this? We couldn’t have a meal together and talk? It was almost as if we had so much to talk about that neither of us could figure out where to begin.
“Marcello,” I said quietly, when we’d picked the last of the roasted chicken from the bones and sopped up the sauce with our bread. Cook, just back to the castle today, had outdone herself. “On the morrow, might you take me to Fortino’s grave?”
He abruptly rose and set his trencher on a side table and reached for mine. Then he went to the window and opened it, as if he was suddenly too hot. He stared out for a long time. I’d upset him. The thought of losing Lia as he had lost Fortino…I rose and went to him, wrapping my arms around his waist and settling my forehead between his shoulder blades. “Will you take me there?” I repeated gently.
“I shall. If you must.”
“I must. Fortino…he meant much to me. I am so sorry, Marcello.”
He placed his hands on mine and took a long, deep breath. In it I could hear just a bit of the overwhelming exhaustion I felt inside.
“You are weary too,” I said.
“I am,” he admitted.
I settled my cheek against his back. “We are far too young to feel like old people.”
He laughed. “Indeed.” He turned and cradled the side of my face. “But it shall pass. There is much ahead of us, Gabriella. Fortino…he would wish for us to embrace life.”
Life? He was tired, yes. But he wasn’t feeling this sick kind of tired that I was. Still he was being so sweet…
He studied me. “When shall you tell me what transpired in Roma?” he asked.
“In time,” I said, shifting away. In retrospect, what was so terrible about it? Indulgent Roman baths? Being pampered, dressed in costume? I felt silly, guilty over giving in to feeling like I’d been through So Much. But I couldn’t help it. It felt like a lot. There’d been my harrowing escape, sure. The chase, the capture. The fear that I was about to be made to marry, whether I wanted to or not. The horrific plan to verify that the marriage was consummated…Then our escape from Rome. It just was too much—too much for my brain and heart to take in.
Marcello took my hand before I was too far away. “Rodolfo…did he…? Did he not honor our agreement?”
He wondered if something had happened between us. If that was at the heart of what was going on inside me. For the first time I wondered if it was a part of it. I remembered our kiss in the woods. Our embrace in Palazzo Vivaro. I’d allowed it. Betrayed Marcello. “Can we speak of it later?” I asked, staring at the tile floor, unable to meet his gaze.
He stilled, guessing there was more there—much more—then let go of my fingers. I felt the chill of the air flowing through the window then, on my palm, where his warm hand had been a second before. “Certainly, m’lady.” He touched my chin and waited for me to look at him. “But we shall speak of it, in time.”
I gave him the tiniest of nods, and, after a breath, he turned and strode toward the door. He paused there, his back to me, clearly wanting to say something. “Do you love him, Gabriella?” he finally asked, staring up at the door frame.
His words sent a shock through me. For the first time since awaking at Castello Forelli, I felt awake. “Love? Rodolfo?”
He waited, deadly still.
“Nay,” I said, striding over to him. I put a hand on his shoulder. “Marcello, look at me.”
Reluctantly he turned.
“If there is one thing I know to be true, it’s this: I love but one man. And that man is you.”
His eyes narrowed in pain and confusion. “Then what is it, Gabriella?” he asked. “What are you not telling me?” He took my hand in his and put it to his chest, covering it with his own. “What are you keeping from me that pains you so that you wish to sleep the day away?”
“I know not,” I said to him. “Truly.” I lifted my free hand to my temple. “Mayhap it’s that I’m trying to pull together so much in my mind, my heart, in so short of a time. It’s a great deal to absorb, Marcello. Even without the trauma of the last few days…weeks. Every time I’ve been here, with you, I’ve experienced battle, disappointment. Death.”
He nodded, holding his hands over m
ine, still on his chest. “But you’ve also experienced love. Extreme loyalty. Friendship.”
Yes, but…
“I understand,” he said at last. “Even for me, ’tis been a great deal. I need to remember that you went from the war, to this. Whereas I had more than a year, without you, adjusting, resting.” He gave me a sad smile and tucked my stupidly stubborn hair behind my ear. “And for a girl of Normandy…such circumstances must be sorely trying indeed.”
I returned his smile. “Normandy is far more tame,” I said. “At least in some regards.”
“I am praying that in the coming days, we shall know an era of peace. That is if Rodolfo can maintain his position among the grandi, and me with the Nine—together we might build bridges again, instead of this incessant fighting.”
“’Twould be good,” I said. If a bit weird. I pictured Rodolfo coming to visit. Marcello inviting him. Sure, dude. Come by the house. Don’t worry if you made moves on my girl. We’ll hang out!
I had to tell him. All of it. Rodolfo had ultimately been faithful to him, to me. But there had been that undercurrent of wanting something far different.…
CHAPTER 22
So, apparently, I’d come to the end of my record sleep-a-thon. Because even though my body was trying to pull me back into Slumberville, my mind was Awake, with a capital A. For hours I’d thought of nothing but Marcello, Rodolfo, Dad, Mom, Lia, the past, the future, tossing and turning. The more I thought, the harder I worked at trying to figure it out, the worse it seemed to get.
I stared at Lady Forelli’s stars until I longed to see the real thing.
I finally threw off the covers and rubbed my arms against the chill. I carried a candle over to a trunk, rifled through it, and found the one I was seeking—a simple brown gown made of a sturdy wool. No adornment, nothing too fancy. But of an older fashion, and therefore higher at the neck and shoulder, warmer. I tossed it over my head, managed to reach a few buttons, then called it good. I grabbed a hooded cape and wrapped it around my shoulders, pulled on my tapestry slippers—wishing they had Ugg boots—and then long gloves.
I needed to walk. Outside. Move. See the stars.
Thinking of Lady Forelli, I blew out my candle. I knew the rest of the castle was likely illuminated anyway, with enough torches lit to guide the knights, should attack occur.
I cracked open my door to the hall, wincing as it squeaked, since I was next door to the quarters Marcello had taken—Lord Forelli’s. I assumed he was sleeping, and he needed it.
After several breaths I assumed he’d not heard me. Otherwise, he’d be racing to his door, sword drawn. He was in that kind of protective mood. Then I tiptoed past his door, down the hall, entered the turret stairs, and circled downward to the bottom. I exited through the door, startling a sleepy knight on guard outside it.
Marcello, really? Isn’t that a bit of overkill? We were inside the castle, after all.
He stood straighter and gave me a curious look. “M’lady? Is there something I can get you?”
“Nay,” I said, giving him my most charming smile. “I simply couldn’t sleep. I suppose that after sleeping so many days away, I’m quite finished.” I raised my shoulders in a shrug. “I’m here to walk, get some fresh air.”
He gave me a polite nod, but I knew he’d be following my every move. How long had I been under guard without knowing it? I supposed it was all right. Understandable. It just…rubbed me wrong. Felt a bit like the ropes on the stretcher a few days ago. Too close to the sort of imprisonment I’d experienced of late, elsewhere.
I walked to the center of the courtyard, looking up. But the moon was half full now, bright in the clear winter sky, and the stars dim. I sighed, frustrated, wanting one of those moonless, brilliant star nights where there was practically more white than black. And then I started to walk, fast. Power walking, of sorts. Trying to drive out all the frustration and confusion building inside me again like a silent scream. I walked the whole perimeter of the castle, which took about ten minutes. I wished I could be outside, in the woods, running through the trees.
I was attracting the attention of every guard on watch, but I ignored them. I wanted to break into a run, circling and circling the inside of the wall, but knew that they’d think I really was like a caged wolf. The last thing Marcello needed was more people thinking I was losing it. So I tucked my hands behind me and slowed my stride to a stroll, keeping my head down, thinking, thinking, thinking.
I was on my fourth round, just passing the kitchen and stables, when I saw him waiting in the center of the courtyard. I paused and then approached him. “Can’t sleep?” I said.
“Not if you can’t,” Marcello said, staring with such deep compassion in his eyes that I held my breath. He lifted a bow toward me and said, “Lia told me you tried your hand at it yesterday.”
“Tried,” I said. “And failed. Most miserably.”
“Then you must try again,” he said, giving me a gentle smile of encouragement. I had never seen a bow and arrow in his hands, but I had no doubt that he was as expert with them as he was with the sword. “I find it settles me, if I cannot find a suitable sparring partner. Mayhap it shall be the same for you.”
I nodded and stepped forward. He’d lit several more torches. I knew the guards watched, but I was mostly aware of Marcello. He stepped behind me, gently correcting my stance as I nocked the arrow and pulled back the bowstring.
“Most overshoot. Aim lower than you think you need to.”
I let it fly, and it stuck to the top of the wheat sheaf.
“There you are,” he said.
I laughed under my breath, positioned another arrow on the string, and aimed.
“Tell me, Gabriella, what it is that keeps you from sleep,” he whispered.
I let the second loose, and it still was high, but a couple inches down from the first. I reached for another arrow and prepared for my next strike. “He kissed me, Marcello.”
His hand stiffened at my waist. Then, “Did you return it?”
“For a moment.”
He took several breaths. “Take your shot, m’lady,” he said then.
I squinted, aiming, but my eyes were filling with tears. I let it go, and it hit the outer ring of the target.
“So now we are getting closer to the heart of the matter,” Marcello said.
I nocked the next arrow as if I were a robot, automatically continuing my task regardless of what was going on. I aimed at the center of the ring, dark and red and representing—at the moment—every frustration I had. “I do not love him,” I said hoarsely. I let it fly, and it struck the second ring.
I paused, and Marcello bent to retrieve the next arrow for me. I put my hand on it but did not take it from him, waiting until he met my gaze. “I was moved by his friendship. His loyalty to you.”
Marcello let out a scoffing laugh. “Rodolfo is quite handsome. Powerful and wealthy. Winsome.”
“No more than you, m’lord,” I said. “I was under a great deal of duress. And when he… Marcello, you need to believe me… I allowed it, for a moment. But I was confused.”
“And that was it?” he asked, his tone deadly.
“One more time. He tried to draw me in, convince me to leave it to God. To attend that first ceremony at Lord Vivaro’s. See if you showed up in time.”
He paused for one breath, then two. “So he loves you.”
I dared to face him. His eyes went back and forth, searching mine, and I nodded. “He never said the words. Mayhap it was but a passing fancy—”
“Nay, I saw it in his face,” Marcello said lowly, stroking my cheek with the back of his knuckles. “You are no man’s passing fancy, Gabriella. You have a way…a way of stealing hearts. You and your sister. Mayhap it’s your Norman upbringing. But every man and woman around you recognizes you as different. Unique
. Other. And that makes us all want to know you more.”
I paused, considering his words. “To be fair, Rodolfo was playing the role. Doing what was expected of him.”
Marcello stepped slightly away so he could look me fully in the face. “Surely you are not that naive.”
“Is he not one of your oldest friends?” I asked in irritation. “A brother?”
“That brotherhood ended when he attempted to draw you away from me. I just didn’t know it, when I saw him last.” He turned and strode away, but I raced past him and put a hand to his chest.
“Nay. Was it not he who made it possible for you to take on the robes and hoods of the noblemen at San Giovanni’s?” I was guessing, but it only made sense.
His pause told me I was right.
“If he was truly willing to sever your friendship, to walk away from you in order to have me, would he have made the way for you? Would it not have made far more sense to keep you out?”
“I would’ve found my way in via another entrance, without him,” he ground out.
“But you didn’t have to, did you, Marcello?”
“He wanted you to choose, Gabriella. He knew we were there, that I would hear it if you willingly accepted the vows.”
He looked away, took a deep breath, and then let it out slowly. Too slowly. “So after you rejected him, he did not make any further untoward advances?”
I wasn’t sure what untoward advances meant, but I could guess from his tone. “Nay, Marcello, nay. He knew he had lost. That my heart beat for one alone.” I reached out and rested my hand against his chest. “You.”
I took the arrow from his hand, turned, and aimed at the center of the target, now an additional ten paces away. “Ever after, I tried to escape. At one point I went out on a ledge, three stories up and made my way around the corner—”
I went on to tell him of my leap to the other palazzo, the old servant helping me escape, Tomas’s arrival, and then of Vivaro’s men closing in.
Marcello stared at my arrow, stuck in the center of the target, and then turned back to me. “By sunup Captain Ruisi had cornered you and the priest.”
The River of Time Series Page 84
