“Gabriella Betarrini, do you take this man as your husband? Before the people of Toscana, the republic of Siena, your family, and your God?”
“Before all,” I said, my voice cracking with emotion as tears slipped down my face, “I pledge my heart to him and take him as my husband.”
The rest unfolded in a fog.
Tomas wrapped our wrists together with the rope that was his belt. Then slowly unwrapped them.
Prayers. Petitions.
Liturgy. More prayers.
And through it all, I could only stare into Marcello’s eyes and wonder at the miracle of what was happening.
He was mine. And I was his.
Forever.
What I didn’t expect was for them all to see us to the bedroom, Marcello’s quarters. But they did, as was apparently the custom. I was only thankful that there weren’t a hundred or more people all trying to cram into the room, as most medieval newlyweds might experience, according to Mom’s continued History Channel rundown.
And I was particularly glad there weren’t four noblemen there to “witness” what was about to transpire between me and Marcello. At least, what I hoped was about to transpire. And yet feared at the same time. I was totally nervous.
The room was even larger than mine, and decidedly masculine, painted darker and with much heavier woods. But Marcello’s bed was exactly the same, which I decided was romantic. It made it feel a little less strange being in his room, rather than mine.
When my family and Luca finally left, Marcello turned and wrapped me in his arms as I shook my head.
“Okay, that was just weird,” I said, lapsing into English.
He cocked his head and squinted his eyes, trying to translate what I might be saying.
“Strange. Odd. To have them all in the room with us, when it should be,” I wrapped my arms around him and looked shyly up into his eyes, “just us.”
“Ahh, my wife, so beautiful,” he said, caressing my cheek and my neck. He kissed me for several long, lingering minutes and then gradually moved around me to begin unbuttoning the back of my dress. His big hands moved down my back, and I remembered the first day we met, when I put my dress on backward and he had to help me button it up in the woods.
Had I known, then, that this was where we would end up? In some surreal way I wondered if I had. It was as if I had always belonged here, in his arms. Been his from the start. He kissed the side of my neck and moved down across my shoulder. There, he paused, maybe seeing my bruise for the first time.
“Where did you get this?” He eased my sleeve off of my shoulder, leaving it bare. The bruise still looked like a green and blue cap sleeve.
“The night I escaped Palazzo Vivaro,” I said, “in Roma.” I looked at him over my bruised shoulder. “The night I knew I belonged with you and would do anything to avoid what was about to happen…what was about to keep me from you.”
He stared at me, brows knitted in frustration, anger at what had happened to me, and then his face softened in gratitude. He bent and gently covered the bruise in sweet kisses, sending delightful shivers down my spine and up my neck. I closed my eyes and gave in to the sensation of being close to him. Gave in to the idea that we were together and never had to be apart. Not this night. Not ever.
It was like being given access to the most perfect tropical beach ever. No one on it. Palm trees arcing over white sand. Warm turquoise waters, lapping at the shore. Freedom. Delicious heat. And yet perfect cool, too.
And in the hours that followed, I discovered what it might be like to be given a piece of quiet paradise.
To be given intimacy. Tenderness. Passion.
Oneness…
A knock sounded at our door in what Marcello called “the dark watches of the night.” Locked in each other’s arms, we stirred sleepily. I felt the loss of Marcello’s body heat and was finally identifying the incessant sound as knocking, when I rose to see Marcello half dressed and striding to the door.
He opened the door a crack and spoke in low tones with whoever was outside for several minutes. Then he closed the door and leaned his head against it.
“Marcello,” I said quietly.
He turned and padded over the cold tiles to our bed. I pulled the covers higher to my chest, feeling goose bumps roll down my arms.
He sat down and gave me a half smile, then touched my face, my chin, and pulled a long coil of my hair over my bare shoulder, for once not tucking it behind my ear but rather toying with it, pulling it and watching it spring back in the candlelight. He was keeping something from me.
“Marcello,” I said again.
His eyes met mine, and he sighed, looked away into the far, dark reaches of the room, then back to me. “They approach. Traveling overnight, I suppose, to avoid our attack. They shall be here by morning.”
I licked my lips and swallowed. “And Rodolfo’s execution shall then be…”
“’Tis scheduled for sundown, on the morrow. Today,” he corrected himself.
“Today.” I took a deep breath. I knew it was crazy, but I had hoped for a day to just be, to settle in to this husband-wife thing a little. Ya know, before we were in the middle of war again.
“You are safer now, as my bride,” he said, laying his warm hand on the side of my neck. “Safer than you’ve ever been. They cannot take you. Cannot demand you marry another. You are mine. To take you now would be an act so despicable, nobles from other lands would enter the battle to defend you.”
“I understand. I’m yours. Taken,” I said with a slow grin. “Per sempre.” I leaned forward and gave him quiet kisses. “Forever.”
He kissed me then, longingly, searchingly.
I pulled away, suddenly worried. “Do we have time for this? Should we not be summoning the men? Preparing?”
“Time enough,” he said, tossing off his shirt and rejoining me under the warm covers. “First love,” he growled, “then war.”
“First love, always love,” I said, welcoming him back to my arms.
CHAPTER 28
I awakened belatedly, and ran my hand over Marcello’s side of the bed, reaching for him, wanting him to pull me into his arms. Wanting to feel the gentle rise and fall of his bare chest, the steady, strong beat of his heart.
Cold, my fingers told me, running across the fabric of our covers. Like he hadn’t been there in some time. My eyes sprang open, and I studied the wide, bare expanse of my husband’s side of the bed, then the slant of the sun through the cracks of the shuttered windows.
I could tell from the angle that the sun had been up for one, maybe two hours.
Flames crackled over three logs in the corner fireplace, but the room was still frigid. I tossed aside the heavy covers and glanced around the room. Nothing but my wedding gown, in a pile on the floor where we’d left it. My eyes went to the side wall, the one between my room and Marcello’s room. There, I spied a doorway, subtly hidden among the woodwork and plaster—a doorway I knew I couldn’t see from the other side. I pulled a blanket from the bed, wrapped it around myself and padded over to it, searching for a handle. There was nothing. But on a hunch, I put my palm against it and pressed.
I felt the soft click of an internal mechanism, and the door popped open. I pulled it fully open, grunting at the weight of it, and strode into my room, ditching the blanket and hurrying to my trunks, tossing one gown aside and then another. I needed one that was regal, suitable for the lady of the castle, and yet one that wasn’t too fussy, given that the day might very well entail swordplay. A lady…Lady Gabriella Forelli, I thought, trying the name out in my mind.
I settled on the amber gown, conscious that the color echoed the Forelli gold. I liked the feel of the weave of its fabric. It wasn’t so tight as some of my others, giving me more room to breathe, move.
Which was kinda import
ant when a girl was headin’ into battle.
I laughed at my own joke and then donned undergarments and pulled the gown over my head, yanking it into place. Which was the other reason I liked the dress—it was sewn up the back. No buttons. As much as I liked buttons, especially when my husband was undoing them, one after the other, today was not a day for them.
I smiled. I was married. Marcello was mine. Today we undoubtedly had terrible things ahead of us, significant struggles. But I couldn’t help feeling somehow stronger, somehow more ready for it, because of our union. I would fight beside him, as long as he allowed it. I knew he wanted me safe, back in the castle, when the time came. But for as long as I could, I wanted to be with him, helping to keep him safe, just as he wished the same for me.
I raced down the stairs and out the turret door, smiling and nodding at the remnant of the kitchen staff, each of whom nodded back at me with shy, knowing smiles. Something had shifted overnight. I could feel it. They could feel it. I was their lady. I mean, I had always been their lady—claimed by all of Siena, really, as one of the She-Wolves—but now, I was this castle’s Lady, with a capital L. I almost felt like whistling, I felt so happy. I know, right? Totally dorky. But I couldn’t help myself.
When I rounded the Great Hall and entered the castello courtyard, I stopped short. It was a mass of confusion. Horses reared or circled on tight reins, agitated by all the commotion and tension. Men pushed their way forward, carrying heavy supplies on their shoulders—barrels, burlap-wrapped bundles, massive sheaves of wheat. To one side more than fifty men were sparring with swords, most of them stripped to the waist, regardless of the cold. On the other, an equal number were shooting arrows at targets.
Luca was laughing with two men, looking around like he was in his element, when he spied me. He clapped and hollered. “Gentle ladies and humble noblemen,” he called, his breath clouding before his face, “I present to you, Lady Gabriella Forelli!”
Those within hearing turned and clapped and cheered for me, but the great majority continued in their war preparations. Luca came over to me and kissed my hand. “A good morning to you, cousin-in-law.”
“And a good morning to you, cousin,” I returned. “Have you seen my husband about?”
“Your husband,” he said, frowning and tapping his lip as he searched the crowd. “Husband, husband, husband…” He stopped and pointed, smiling at me. “Over yonder is thy husband.”
I saw Marcello then, deep in conversation with six knights who were wearing a coat of arms on their capes I had not seen before. They must’ve arrived overnight, as had perhaps a hundred more men. I playfully nudged Luca with my hip and moved out, leaving him laughing behind me.
I moved among the men, dodging several horses and the swordplay of still more knights. I glimpsed my dad sparring with a knight, his face lighting up as if he understood some new move. My sister, over with the Lerici archers, examining their unique arrows, while five men considered her unique attributes. Mom was nowhere to be seen—perhaps she was in the kitchen, making even more bread than yesterday. And when I looked again to where Marcello had been before, he was no longer there.
I frowned in confusion, glancing about when I didn’t find him, eyeballing every one of the perhaps three hundred people in the courtyard.
“Dare I hope that it’s me you seek?” he said lowly in my ear. I jumped and whirled.
“M’lord!”
“M’lady!” he cried back, teasing me. He grinned and grabbed my hand to haul me to the nearest turret staircase, ignoring the many men who called his name and others who shouted in jest. He opened the door, allowed me to enter, then shut it. A guard was just coming down the stairs, but Marcello yelled up. “Good man, might you remain up top for but a moment?”
The knight caught sight of me, smiled, and then trudged back up the stairs and closed the door. But even before it was shut, Marcello had lifted me in his arms, kissing me with joy more than passion. He was all over the place, kissing my eyebrow, my chin, my nose, my ear, my hair. I laughed and kissed him back, my hands on his broad shoulders, the wide width of his strong back, the narrow of his waist.
“Ah, wife,” he said, at last still, pulling away. “It took everything in me to leave you in my bed.”
“And ’twas a great sorrow to wake without you,” I said.
He touched my chin. “I promise, there will be many days when we shall not leave it at all. But not this day. Come, there is much to tell you, so that you are prepared.” He took my hand, and we climbed the turret, exiting up top, giving the men outside a new reason to cheer. Although our ceremony had been private, our marriage was very public knowledge, just as Marcello had wanted it. The more widely it was broadcast that Lady Gabriella Betarrini was now Lady Gabriella Forelli, the better.
The knight we’d delayed edged past us. “My most sincere congratulations to you both, m’lady, m’lord.”
“Thank you, friend,” Marcello said, patting him on the shoulder as he passed. He took my hand and walked me around the perimeter of the castle, keeping me on the inside in case an enemy archer got a crazy idea he’d like to start this battle sooner than later. I could see that not only had more of Marcello’s band of brothers arrived, but Siena herself had ridden to our defense.
There weren’t the numbers we’d seen the last time full-scale battle had erupted between the cities, but it was a good start. And it was exactly how Marcello wanted it. He didn’t want Paratore too agitated, too alarmed. If the battle went on, more would arrive. I couldn’t forget the columns of men we’d encountered last time, heading to the front lines. But Marcello hoped we could win this so quickly, so decidedly, that the Fiorentini would not even have the chance to call for more men.
And with our peeps hidden inside Castello Forelli’s walls, I thought we might just have that chance. If they’d arrived without Paratore’s men understanding who they were, what they were capable of, we just might have what we needed. I shivered, glad that it wasn’t me and Lia on the other side of Paratore’s gates. It had been there I received the wound that had ultimately sent me home the first time, far from Marcello. And seeing Paratore again, after Sansicino, after my escape…I knew he’d be bent on taking me down. Lia and Marcello, too, if he could.
I shifted, taking a firmer grasp of Marcello’s hand. Please, Lord, keep us together this day. Keep us whole. May this first day of our marriage not be the last.
Marcello pointed out the two companies of men from Firenze, who camped outside the enemy castle. I could barely see bits of tent and flags below the castle wall. But Marcello had received the reports. They comprised maybe three to four hundred knights. And they had marched all night to arrive.
Surrounding Castello Forelli, we had three hundred men from Siena, many of who had arrived the day before. And inside we had another three hundred. Marcello grinned at me, knowing that I was putting the numbers together with him. Knowing that we outnumbered them two to one.
I stared outward to the crimson flag dancing in the wind and steeled myself to encounter Lord Paratore again. I’d hoped he was out of my life forever. That he’d retired to the relative safety and peace of Firenze and left this disputed border territory for others to haggle over.
But no. He was back. I could almost feel him, just across the valley.
And I knew that if he had the chance, he would do everything he could not to kidnap me, but to kill me. And he wouldn’t be the only one.
Marcello was right.
Maybe I had to sit this one mostly out.
Our men combed the woods on our side of the border, trying to roust out any scouts come to spy on us. Once they were assured a section was safe, they sent in groups of men, dressed in camouflage colors of tan and green, to hide themselves and stealthily make their way to the border in order to do their own espionage work—or, if the battle began, to surprise our enemies in pockets.
>
“Scouts returning, m’lord,” called Lutterius, down to Marcello, who was with me in the courtyard. Marcello tensed at my side. It was maybe two in the afternoon. Had it already begun?
The gates opened only three feet wide—we were still attempting to keep our reserve troops a secret from any prying eyes—and two riders came through. Boys, really, a few years younger than I. Middle schoolers. Except they had no such thing in medieval Toscana. Most did not even attend school. Only the very wealthy could afford to hire tutors.
“They have begun, m’lord,” said one, sliding off his horse and only slightly bowing to us both in his excitement.
“What did you see?” Marcello asked.
“Timber,” said the second, coming up behind the first. They had a similar, gangly, long-nosed look—definitely brothers. “They are erecting a platform outside the castello.”
“How many men do they have?”
“By our guess, more than three hundred.”
Marcello nodded, chin in hand. “And did you overhear anything? Any word of more en route?”
“One spoke of a hundred more on their way from Firenze,” said the first. He smiled mischievously. “We were able to creep quite close.”
“Good. Take your fill of food and drink, pack some supplies, and head north to take up a new position. If you see more troops arriving, come and warn us. To do us any good at all, you must arrive at least an hour before they reach Castello Paratore. Understand?”
“It shall be done, m’lord,” said the second boy.
“M’lord,” said the first. They gave Marcello a short bow and headed toward the stables, walking their horses.
I studied Marcello. He was staring into the sky, frowning. “What is it?” I said.
He shook his head and smiled for me. “Ah, nothing specific. It’s only that it seems I’ve battled Paratore and his men ever since I first picked up a sword. And while he is not the greatest military tactician, he is not the fool. Right now it seems that he is walking directly into our trap. Or is that what he wishes us to think?”
The River of Time Series Page 90
