I laughed when Mom came toward us, red-faced and with a smudge of soot on her forehead. “How fares the bread baker?” I asked. With the servants so rapidly disappearing, we all had volunteered to do miscellaneous tasks not normally left to us. And Mom had been so keen to try her hand at baking bread again.
“Brutal,” she said, wiping her forehead of its sheen of sweat, despite the cool of the winter afternoon. “I would accept the hazards of baking bread at high altitude every time over the hazards of a wood-fired stove.”
I smiled. “How many loaves did you manage?”
“Twenty,” she said proudly, obviously pleased with herself. She eyed me over her shoulder. “I said it was difficult, not impossible.”
“Well done,” I said. “Can I be of help in the kitchen?”
“Not yet,” she said, “but come supper time, most likely.”
We were continuing on our way toward the Great Hall, where Marcello could grab some food and confer with Conte Lerici, when a call went up at the gates. Marcello and I both froze, fearing it might be the scouts, returning far too soon, warning us that Paratore was on the move. But through the gate walked two teenage boys who had been sent to Castello Paratore earlier.
Marcello smiled gently and clapped the first on the shoulder. “Rejected, were we?”
“Not enough experience,” the boy said.
“Nay, we needed a couple of young farmers in the mix, willing to give up their fields in order to work inside the castello,” Marcello said. He folded his arms. “How many are in?”
The boys eyed each other and then thought about it, naming one after the other they’d seen inside.
“Fifteen,” I said in wonder. “That’s remarkable.”
“We can utilize your skills here,” Marcello said in a tone of consolation.
The boys accepted his words and glumly went on to the well to pull up a pail of water. I watched them and gave a Marcello a wry look. “So becoming a stable boy has become a position of glory.”
“Indeed,” he said. “Fifteen,” he added, squeezing my hand in excitement. It was working—far better than we had hoped. We’d only hoped to get ten of our people inside. I thought of Giacinta and said a quick prayer for her.
The gates were just closing when they opened again for three wagons carrying long, heavy loads of timber. They looked to me like a massive set of Lincoln Logs. “Catapult,” Marcello said in a tone of utter delight. “Which could only mean—”
“Forelli!” called a small, wide man in nobleman’s clothes. Eight men walked in behind him. Another from the brotherhood. The two clasped arms and then embraced. The short man eyed me, but his attention was on Marcello. “Thought you could utilize this old relic,” he said, moving toward a wagon and pulling back a long blanket. Was it dismantled because they wished to hide the fact that Castello Forelli was now armed with such a device? Or was it simply to transport it?
“Old relic—I find that highly suspect,” Marcello said, running his hand along the finely carved notches. “Was it just completed?”
“A fortnight past,” the man said, shrugging his shoulders. “I’d thought it was necessary to provide some sort of protection for our manor, but when I got your message, I knew it had a far greater destiny here.”
“I am beyond grateful,” Marcello said. I edged closer, and Marcello turned to me. “Sir Mantova,” he said, “my bride to be, Lady Gabriella Betarrini.”
“Your bride to be?” said the man with a wide grin. He kept slapping Marcello on the shoulder as if he was the luckiest man on the planet, all the while staring at me and hooting with pleasure over the news.
I laughed under my breath, a little embarrassed. I shifted uneasily, but Marcello took my hand in both of his.
“You’d better marry her this night,” Sir Mantova said. “She’s far safer as your wife than as your intended.”
I squirmed. So we’re back to that again? I wanted to see this through, and then see to my wedding. Thinking about both at the same time was enough to put me over the edge.
“Gabriella shall be safely ensconced in Castello Forelli,” Marcello said, kissing my hand.
Mantova cocked one brow and pursed his lips as if he was going to argue it, but Marcello turned him and pointed in the direction of the Great Hall. “Come. Eat your fill and see that your men do the same.”
Others arrived over the course of the afternoon and early evening. A young lord with thirty-six highly trained knights. Another with eighteen on horseback. Still another with twenty-four more fighting men.
It was sweltering in the kitchen, and feeding so many took hours. By the time supper was over, Lia and I wanted to dip our whole heads in the pails of water.
Marcello leaned against the doorjamb of the kitchen, arms crossed. Luca hovered behind him. “Look, Luca. Are these not the two prettiest kitchen maids you’ve ever seen in your life?”
I rolled my eyes and wiped my forehead of sweat. “The two hottest kitchen maids you’ve ever seen in your life,” I said.
“And she means that literally,” Lia said, edging past me with another pile of dirty wooden trenchers to wash. I looked at them and groaned, seriously wishing we could call back all the servants from Castello Paratore.
“Sit,” Marcello demanded. “Luca and I shall see to these.”
“We shall?” Luca asked.
“We shall,” he said firmly. “You two look as if you might faint dead away if you don’t find your escape now.”
“You don’t have to ask me twice,” Lia said, moving out the door just as another servant arrived with more dishes and a second left carrying hot soup and a ladle.
“Go, Gabriella,” Marcello said, taking my shoulders and moving me toward the door. “You have done your fair share.”
“You could stay and accompany me,” Luca said to Lia. “I might get lonely in here.” He dipped his hands into the hot water.
“Nonsense,” she teased. “You have Lord Marcello.”
“You think he is a replacement for you?” Luca asked.
“He’s the best you’ll get this eve,” she returned.
He clasped his wet hands to his heart as if she’d wounded him. Laughing, we turned to go.
“Gabriella,” Marcello said, “would you kindly change and meet me in the library in an hour’s time?”
I blinked. Change? I glanced down at my dress and saw the stains and water marks all down the face of my brown gown. “Oh. Yes, of course.”
He smiled. “Excellent. I shall see you in an hour.”
I turned with Lia, and we walked to the back turret that led to my quarters. “Will you help me slip on another dress?” I asked. “Apparently my clothes work for the kitchen but not for company.”
“I’d say that again,” she said with a laugh.
We waited for a group of new knights to pass; they reminded me of a bunch of college boys out on the town, casting us flirty looks and wolfish whistles. The last of them turning full around to check us out—obviously thinking we were just a couple of kitchen maids—and Lia and I laughed.
“They are going to feel so bad when they figure out who we are,” she said under her breath.
We entered the turret door and climbed the stairs.
I smelled rose petals and beeswax before we hit the second level.
“Uh, Gabi?” Lia asked, staring down the hallway. Twenty fat candles had been lit along the stone walls, and red rose petals were strewn along the walkway. As we drew closer, I could see that my door was open. I frowned. What was this? Slowly I reached down and took out my dagger.
“Really?” Lia asked, laughing at me with her eyes. “What? Someone’s come to kill you with romance?”
But I didn’t share her laughter. She hadn’t been there, in Roma. Experienced the baths, the preparation. There were a l
ot of strangers in Castello Forelli this night. And hadn’t we, ourselves, succeeded in placing our own within our enemy’s gates? Was it such a leap to wonder about this?
Lia stepped forward, and I gripped her arm. She shook it off. “Man, Gabs, ease up,” she said. “This has Marcello written all over it.” She scooted away and moved toward the door.
“Lia,” I warned.
But she was through it without even a look back at me.
All was silent a moment. Then, “Uh, Gabs, you’d better get in here.”
I entered and saw more candles illuminating my room. On my bedroom door was a note:
My love—
I am yours. Shall you be mine?
Marcello
The den, in an hour. Could it be? Had he planned…in the midst of everything else…?
A periwinkle blue gown, exquisitely simple and elegant, shimmered on the bed. Beside it was a pretty, but more basic, green gown. For Lia, I supposed. A tray, with bread and fruit upon it. An hourglass, turned over, the sands patiently whirring through to the bottom. And the tub, with a shallow bath and rose petals floating on it. I reached down. It was barely warm, but the aroma…“Where’d he get roses, this time of year?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “1-800-FLOWERS?”
I smiled and took half a breath. “It looks like I’m getting married today after all.”
“After all,” she said, moving behind me and beginning to unbutton my soggy gown in silence. I slipped into the lukewarm waters, hurriedly seeing to my bath while Lia changed into her gown. When I stood up and had toweled off, I buttoned her up the back. After I’d put on a new set of delicately woven underclothes, set out for me in a neat pile, and she’d wrapped my torso in the soft, silk wrap, Lia eyed the remaining sand in the hourglass and combed out my hair. “Want me to try and braid it or something?” she asked.
“No. They like it down on their wedding day,” I said. “I just wish I had a blow-dryer and straightener.”
“Nah. You look awesome like that. Fresh. Beautiful. He’s going to go nuts.”
I smiled and rose, lifting the luscious gown in my hands. It was the color of spring flowers, of delicate petals, of the sky at twilight. The entire bodice was embroidered with seed pearls, reminding me of a gown I’d worn in Siena, of those days in which we’d first danced together on the rooftop of Palazzo Rossi, and known. Known we were in love. That it was inevitable. Inescapable. Fated. Perfect, regardless of the complications and the obstacles before us. That somehow we had to find our way to be together. Even if we tried to escape the truth of it, for a while.
And now, here we were. I slipped the dress over my head, and Lia tugged it down into place. The swooping neckline hit just at the shoulder and fabric at the upper arms clung tight then flared out at the elbow. I winced when I saw the green and blue bruise peeking out. “Well, so much for my career as a bridal show model,” I said.
She gave me a soft smile. “He’ll love you all the more for it. A wound from your escape?”
I nodded. She moved to my back and buttoned me up, making me suck in my breath to get the last of them closed. The skirt flowed outward, with a slight train. Then she reached for a delicate crown on the bed, made of the same seed pearls as those on my gown, woven in three strands of gold, and gathered into five “petals” resembling orange blossoms. She set it on my head and stood back. “My gosh, Gabi. I don’t think we could’ve ever found a better dress for you, even back home. You are beautiful,” she said, shaking her head. “Totally beautiful.”
I smiled, never feeling more gorgeous than I did in that moment.
A knock sounded at my door, and Lia went to it and peeked out. I glanced at the hourglass and saw that we were out of time. It was our parents, come to collect us.
We embraced, in the center of the room, wrapping our arms around one another until all four of us were a part of it. In the midst of all those candles, flickering, casting a warm glow over it all. Among the scent of roses. We were totally quiet, for once, not saying a word. Just sensing the sacredness of the moment. Dad smiled and gave me a long, tender kiss on the forehead. Mom did the same, from the other side, and I leaned forward to touch my forehead to Lia’s.
“It’s time,” Dad said at last, breaking the silence. “You ready? Really ready, Gabriella, to commit your life to another?” He stared into my eyes.
And I returned his stare. “Yes.”
“Because if you want to back out, now’s the time to do it.”
“No,” I said. “This is perfect. Tuscany’s version of a small, intimate service. If I’m not getting married on a Hawaiian beach, it may as well be in a castle library.”
Mom and Dad shared A Look. Then she wriggled a sapphire ring from her pinkie finger—it had once belonged to her grandmother. “Something old and something blue. But not borrowed. It’s yours. She’d want you to have it.”
“Something new,” Dad said, slipping a delicate gold chain around my neck, with a massive pearl, in a teardrop shape as its pendant.
“Ooo, and something borrowed,” Lia said, slipping the only earrings she had from home out of her ears. She slipped the tiny pearls into mine. “You’re good to go now.”
Good to go, I thought. To go and get…married.
CHAPTER 27
I couldn’t believe it was happening.
And yet I didn’t want anything else.
We moved down the hallway. Mom tucked my hand around her arm and said, “The crown—do you know why they look like orange blossoms?”
I shook my head.
“The Crusaders brought back the Saracen custom. There, they use real orange blossoms, which are exceedingly expensive. They’ll probably give you a small bouquet of herbs when we arrive—they’re for fertility. And they might wrap your hands together in a cloth, signifying your union.”
I smiled at her. “I thought you were an Etruscan archeologist. How do you know this about medieval custom?”
She grinned. “You know me. Too many late nights watching the History Channel. And I had a college professor with a particular penchant for medieval wedding customs.”
“I’m glad for it,” I said, touching her hand. We reached the end of the hallway, and I glanced at them. “Thank you,” I said, gazing at them all with tears in my eyes. I knew they wanted to remain here, in this time, that it wasn’t just for me. But if I hadn’t gone and fallen in love with Marcello? Maybe they would have wanted to try and go deeper into history, to Etruscan times. I knew Mom didn’t want to go home—didn’t want to risk losing Dad again. And I knew why—the thought of losing Marcello left me feeling hollow inside. But Lia—she, out of all of them, was making the greatest sacrifice. I prayed she would find peace, happiness here. With me. That my choice would ultimately be something she would be glad about, again and again.
We went down the stairs and entered the next corridor, which was lit with twenty more candles and strewn with more petals. Lia and Mom went first, and I came next, on Dad’s arm. We hovered in the doorway, and the sight I saw inside caused me to bring a hand to my mouth. There were a hundred—maybe more—candles, of various heights and widths, all lit. The effect was mesmerizing. And the strong honey scent…I would’ve sworn I was in the middle of a beehive.
Marcello stood, grinning, at one end, beside Father Tomas. Luca offered me a small bouquet of herbs, as Mom had guessed. I lifted them to my nose to smell. Rosemary and mint and something else. The scents blended perfectly with the beeswax and rose petals. Luca took Lia’s arm and walked to the end, placing her on one side before moving to stand behind Marcello
Mom and Dad were the only others in the room—two knights closed the door behind us. I knew those knights would stand guard, letting us keep our privacy. At least for the moment. I wondered if there were others, outside. In a castle as packed as ours, it was strange to no
t be meeting others in the hallway. But it had been utterly empty.
Dad eased me toward Marcello, and with each step, I felt somehow more connected to Marcello inside, as if our lives were literally fusing, inch by inch. I still couldn’t believe this man had fallen for me. He looked down at me and smiled, shaking his head as if he felt the same wonder I felt for him.
Dad cleared his throat, and Marcello offered his hand. Dad handed Lia my tiny bouquet, then placed my fingers in Marcello’s and covered them both with his own. It made my eyes well up with tears, the gesture, the sensation of us both held by him. He looked steadily at Marcello. “You shall take care of her, with everything you have in you, until your last breath?”
“Until my last breath,” he promised solemnly.
Dad held his gaze another moment, then bent and kissed my temple. “Take care of him, too, sweetheart,” he said. “If you both care for each other more than you care for yourself, your marriage will endure all.”
I smiled at him, acknowledging his words, and he moved aside. If there ever was a marriage I wanted my own to look like, it was Mom and Dad’s.
Marcello took both of my hands in his and stared into my eyes as if we were alone in the room. His hair was tied at the nape of his neck, as cleanly as his curls would allow, but one coil fell to the side of his right eye, across his cheekbone, and hovered over that strong jaw.
Gradually we felt Father Tomas staring at us. He was waiting, grinning, and when we finally looked his direction, he began his liturgy in Latin. I heard Luca laugh quietly under his breath. I wanted to laugh too. I couldn’t stop smiling. Nothing, nothing compared to this. To being with him. Taking the oath to bond with him in a way we’d already done with our hearts.
Father Tomas slipped back into Italian after a prolonged period of Latin liturgy. “Marcello Forelli, do you take this woman as your wife? Before the people of Toscana, the republic of Siena, your family, and your God?”
“Before all, I pledge my heart to her and take her as my wife,” he said.
The River of Time Series Page 89
