CHAPTER 3

The seamstress came and retrieved my underdress, frowning at my jeans and cami but saying nothing. In twenty minutes, she returned, a new six-inch band of lace sewn to the bottom of the underdress. I stared at it a moment, in awe, as it dangled above my feet, which were now properly in slippers of tapestry just big enough to cover my long toes. “This was hand-done, right?”

She looked at me like I’d lost it, and I clamped my mouth shut. Stupid, Gabi. This was an age far before machinery intricate enough to generate lace on a loom. They’d only been doing that for, like, a hundred years.

The woman seemed to gather herself. “Let me help you with your hair, m’lady.”

Obediently, I sat on the corner of the bed as she wound it into what felt like a pretzel shape at the bottom of my scalp and swept a net over it, fastening it with pins to the small fabric piece just past the crown of my head.

She stood back and gave me a curt nod of satisfaction. “The lord and other nobles will be gathering shortly in the dining hall. Would you like me to escort you, m’lady?”

“Not yet,” I said. “I…um…need a moment.”

“Of course, m’lady.” She bowed a little and exited, as if half-hating to leave and half-eager to do so. Crazy woman, she’s probably thinking. She’s gone bonkers. Lost her marbles. I paced the floor, suddenly feeling on the border of insanity. Marbles? Did they have marbles yet? What games did they have? I again wished I had my phone with me. If I hadn’t left it in the car, there might have been some way to call home, even across time. Some weird portal. Or at the very least, games to play on it. Not that I’d have anywhere to plug it in once it died.…

Over and over I glanced at the small windows high on my wall, well aware when golden clouds gave way to peach skies. It had to be seven or after.

A gentle knock at my door made me jump. “Lady Betarrini?”

Marcello. My hand went to my throat like that silly twit’s had. Maybe it wasn’t her fault. Maybe this guy inspired weak-kneed reactions in every girl.

“Yes?” I said, forcing confidence into my voice.

“It’s time to sup. Won’t you join us? I’ll escort you.”

There was no way out of it. Cook, the seamstress, and now Marcello all seemed bent on my heading to dinner. I moved to the door, flipped the latch, and opened it. He stood there, a slight smile on his full lips, and glanced down at my dress. “They’ve fixed your gown, I see,” he said. “But they can’t quite tame your hair, can they?” A gentle, teasing smile touched his lips.

I reached up and felt coils of my hair escaping the seamstress’s careful knot. Curse these curls! If only I had Lia’s silky, long, blonde, straight hair. “Oh,” I said in dismay.

“No,” he said, looking suddenly remorseful. “I only meant to say…” He clamped his lips shut a moment, then, “It reminds me of how you looked when I found you. A nymph of the woods entrapped in a tomb, just waiting to be set free.”

I tried to swallow but found it difficult under his warm, searching gaze. The guy was clearly intrigued. With me? Or just my weird story?

“Shall we?” he asked.

I stared back at him. “Shall we what? Oh. Head to dinner. Supper,” I corrected myself in a rush. “The meal. Food.” Shut up, Gabi! Stop! The less I said, the better.

But he grinned and offered his arm. “Cook’s bread didn’t stave off your hunger?’

“Nay, not quite,” I said, wrapping my hand around the crook of his elbow like some high school dance date.

He smiled, more gently this time, and took my hand from his arm. “Here in Toscana, we proceed in this manner.” He put out his right arm, hand somewhat extended, then placed my left atop his forearm and wrist. “This way, we must walk in tandem. It’s far more elegant.”

“Far more,” I said. Seriously. Who had time for such things? I’d have to really watch and try and get a grip on such things before he had to teach me anything else.

We moved down the corridor, and he dropped my hand, softly, at the doorway, then after I came through to the courtyard, offered his arm again. With the long dress, my hair in a net, towers all around, and a couple of guards checking us out, I almost freaked out again, very aware of how far away home really was. But I managed to keep it together. Mostly.

“You are the tallest woman I’ve met.”

“I think I’m going to get that a lot.”

“Get that?”

“Hear that.”

“Yes, well, I rather like it. It’s far easier to hold your arm than Lady Rossi’s.” He said her name in a mumble, as if realizing too late, that his compliment to me was a dig at his girl.

We entered the Great Hall. There was a long table on a slightly elevated dais at the front of the room where Lord Forelli, Marcello’s knights, Lady Rossi, her peeps, that tall, thin man, and a few others were already seated. All the men rose to their feet, looking in my direction. Some sort of old-fashioned chivalry? I could feel the heat of a blush climb my neck and cheeks, as well as the piercing cold of Lady Rossi’s stare—along with the stares of girls who surrounded her, despite their genteel smiles. Below them, two tables stretched outward, each easily seating twenty. All the men at these tables also rose and looked my way.

I’d never seen such a dining room, except for at my cousin’s wedding, where she insisted on doing the whole nine yards in a sixteenth-century theme. She and her husband had met as actors in an annual Renaissance faire in California. My parents loved it, of course, even though it was the cheesiest of historical honors. My sister and I thought they were whacked, and spent the evening making fun of them from behind our fat turkey drumsticks.

But there I was, living what could only be my cousin’s biggest fantasy, as Marcello led me to the front of the room. Fat yellow candles adorned the tables in hand-carved candelabras. On the walls were candleholders with more candles, spaced evenly between massive tapestries like those I’d seen in a Venetian museum, imported from Denmark. Above us, wider candles cast light from a wrought-iron ring hanging from a chain that was wound down from the corner of the room on a winch. Food sat on wide wooden platters—something I heard Luca refer to as a “trencher”—in the middle of each group of six or so. A couple of roasted hens; grilled apples; a bowl of what looked like oatmeal; round, brown loaves of bread. Goblets held red wine, and judging by the boisterous talk behind us, I wondered how long these people had been drinking as they’d waited on my arrival.

Lady Rossi looked up at me sweetly as I took a seat across from her. “Lady Betarrini, I trust you are refreshed?” She glanced left and right, all wide-eyed and innocent. Innocent as a streetwalker. “We feared you had taken sick when you did not appear to sup.” Her glance moved to Marcello, who was watching the exchange with interest, and held there. Yeah, right. You mean you hoped I’d gotten sick enough to die. You’re not fooling me. Marcello had left my side and walked around the table, then stood behind his chair.

“I am quite refreshed,” I said. “Forgive my tardiness.”

Lord Forelli rose and gave me a smile. “Fret not over it, Lady Betarrini. You are here now.” The women all remained seated, and so I did too.

Then the older Forelli bowed his head, and the rest did the same. “Lord God,” the old man said, “please bless this food. Thank You for Your provision and protection over our men this day. May Your will be forever done. Amen.”

“Amen,” repeated the men, loud enough to make me jump a little in my seat. I hoped everyone else had their eyes closed and missed it.

She hadn’t, of course. Lady Rossi looked down, but her little smile didn’t escape me. She shared a little sideways glance with the girl to her right and I focused on my goblet. Nothing but wine to drink. No water. No milk. I’d have to be careful. Mom and Dad had let me taste some before, but I’d never had a whole glass. The last thing I needed was to get wasted and start yammering about modern medicine and space travel.

I took a tentative sip, thinking about the girl across from me. I knew her. I mean, I didn’t know her–know her, but I knew her. She wasn’t the overtly mean girl, the pretty cheerleader with the aging cheerleader mom living her youth again through her kid. She was the smarter, more dastardly popular girl who was always nice to your face and ripped you apart in the shadows. She was the one who planned terrible Facebook assassination campaigns, but no one could ever pin them on her. The one who managed to steal your boyfriend before you even realized she was a threat.

It was good that Lia wasn’t here. This kind of girl routinely destroyed my naive, artsy, trusting sis. But me? I’d dealt with it, seen it before. Of course, I didn’t want to take her on. There was no need. I’d be out of here soon enough. But if she thought she had me figured out, she had another thought coming. “So…Lady Rossi. Please, tell me about yourself. Where did you obtain such a fine, amazing gown?”

Her friend smiled, obviously pleased by my compliments, and I sensed a bit of a thaw, but I didn’t get the same vibe from Miss Fancypants. She answered my question as Marcello carved a slice of chicken for each of us. But while words were emanating from her rosebud lips, her murky brown eyes were fastened on me, considering me, considering her next move. Like chess players. I suddenly had the desire to take her on at a chess table. Knights and queens and horses on a table before me while I was surrounded by real knights and princes and horses. How many people could say that?

But as much as I had to keep an eye on the cat with her claws barely concealed across from me, I was drawn into the banter of Luca and Giovanni to my left, and across from them, Lord Forelli and a sickly looking young man to his left. The young man, whom I guessed to be about twenty, looked at me and gave me a small smile and a nod. Had we been introduced? He seemed so familiar, and yet not. I could have sworn he hadn’t been there when I arrived.

Marcello saw the direction I was looking and stood. “Lady Betarrini, may I present my elder brother, the future lord of Castello Forelli, Fortino.”

I nodded, not at all certain what the man’s title should be.

“Lady Betarrini, welcome,” he said tiredly, but there was kindness and warmth in his eyes. He looked remarkably like Marcello, just far more…gaunt.

I felt Lady Rossi and her girls bristle across from me. Oh, I get it. They didn’t want me to hook up with either of the Forelli boys. If Fortino managed to survive whatever illness he suffered from, that’d rob them of the prize—future lordship of the castello; if he didn’t, Marcello was next in line. I hid a smile. If I could figure out how to help Fortino, it would burn them worse than stealing Marcello’s heart. Sure, she probably really had feelings for Marcello. Who wouldn’t? But she was obviously out for more. And judging from Marcello’s reaction to Luca’s comment in the woods, he’d rather Fortino returned to health and claimed his rightful position.

That was…if I was staying. I mean, there probably wasn’t time for such things. I had my hands full just figuring out the means for getting out of here and back to the tomb. Maybe Lia was there waiting for me. Or maybe she wasn’t. Maybe she hadn’t made the jump, and was back—or forward, whatever—where she was supposed to be, telling Mom that I was somewhere, lost in time. Marcello made other introductions, to Lady Rossi’s ladies-in-waiting, the other knights, to Lord Foraboschi, the tall, thin man I’d seen earlier. Gradually, I learned that he was Lady Rossi’s father’s trusted man, here to escort his charge and watch over her. Was it my imagination, or did the man look at me like I was the worst sort of nuisance?

“Lady Betarrini, tell us of your sister,” Lord Forelli said, interrupting my thoughts. “Mayhap one of our knights or ladies has come across her today.”

“Your knights were rather occupied, Father,” Marcello said. Was there an edge to his voice? I glanced between him, his brother, and his father, trying to figure out the dynamics there.

“Yes, and you saw it through in fine fashion, Marcello,” he said, like he really couldn’t care less. He turned his droopy eye upon me. “Lady Betarrini, your sister? Describe her for us.”

I thought back. She’d been wearing jeans and a leopard-print shirt. Best to steer clear of the clothing.… “She’s quite a bit shorter than I and—”

“Thank the heavens,” Lady Rossi said, giggling. “How might we clothe two women so tall?”

I sent a fake smile in her direction and went on. “She has long, blonde hair—”

“Blonde?” Marcello repeated, clearly surprised. I’d inherited my father’s overtly Italian looks while my sis was all my mom, a Dane. No one would’ve guessed we were siblings.

“Gold. The color of straw, long and straight. She has blue eyes and is quite pretty.”

Luca and Pietro rose. “Permission to go in immediate search of this young maiden, sir,” said the first.

The other knights erupted in laughter.

Marcello smiled but then waved them down. “She was not there when we found her sister. You know that as well as I.”

“Unless the Paratores somehow spirited her off,” said Pietro lowly.

I looked down the table at him, alarm gathering in my chest. He was in his mid-twenties, classically Italian in looks, short, broad, with the deep shadow of an evening beard. He was not joking.

Marcello met my eyes and shook his head slightly. “She was not there. I swear it upon my grave.”

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She wasn’t back at the tomb, I told myself. I didn’t leave her behind. There was no doubt in Marcello’s mind.

Still, doubt lingered. “Might we…could we go in the morning? To be certain? I mean, we became separated. Mayhap she took another path, and even now, is there, trying to find shelter for the night.”

“With castles within view? Why not beg shelter from us or even the Paratores?” Lady Rossi said, her voice ringing with the echo of judgment. “Assuming she knows nothing of them, of course,” she quickly amended.

“This is a new land for us, far from home,” I said. “We were so lost, we became fearful of trusting anyone.”

“Logical,” Marcello said, stabbing his chicken with his knife and placing it in his mouth.

I stared at him for a moment and then looked down to my own utensils. Only a knife. Well, this’ll be tricky.… The Pre-Fork Era.

“Tell us, Lady Betarrini,” Lord Forelli said. “Where do your family’s loyalties lie here in Toscana?”

Several people nearby leaned in, studying me.

I stared at him, blankly. What was he asking? Images from the battlefield filtered through my mind. This was clearly a loaded question. As in…declare-yourself-wrongly-and-you-will-die kind of loaded. We were in the fourteenth century, a time when Siena was a major power. But so was Florence. I remembered that much after all my summers in and around the two cities.

“Come now, m’lady,” the man said. The entire table was silent. Only the men ate. “’Tis a simple question. Where do your loyalties lie? Be you Guelph or Ghibelline?”

“Is this truly necessary?” Marcello interceded for me.

“Indeed,” said his father.

Guelph? Ghibelline? Dim recollections of lessons on Tuscan associations—or disassociations—with the Papacy cascaded through my mind. But I could not remember which was which, let alone guess who the Forellis might favor. Time to play the Dumb Girl card. I got all Jane Austen on him. Totally the wrong era, but it was all I had.…

“I confess,” I said, fluttering lashes like my counterpart across the table, “I pay no attention to the politics of men.”

Lord Forelli lifted his chin, studying me as if he knew I was trying to get out of answering his question. I ignored the heat of Marcello’s gaze. Was he buying it? Why did it bother me to think that he did? “But your family, surely they—”

“Enough,” Marcello said. “Father, she is our guest.”

“A guest we know precious little about. Might she not be as easily a spy for Florentines as well as a friend to the Sienese?”

I’m sure my face showed my surprise. They thought I was a spy? And he was trying to trick me…this household had Siena written all over it. In the corner there was a fresco of a she-wolf suckling Remus and Romulus—Siena’s legendary symbol.

“I fear my sister is in grave danger,” I said delicately, bringing a hand to the base of my throat—Oh, well done, Gabi!—“If the Paratores are as dangerous as it seems, if they have fallen to Florentine sympathies, I need to redouble my efforts to make certain she hasn’t fallen captive to them.”

Lady Rossi coughed. Did I imagine that she muttered something about wishing we had both gone to the Paratores?

“Lord Forelli, I beg for your aid,” I said, setting down my knife, no longer hungry. “Might your men help me search for Evangelia, come morning? I won’t be able to sleep, my concern is so great.” I was getting seriously good at talking their lingo.

The tall, thin Lord Foraboschi leaned forward, weaving his fingers together and studying me with clever eyes. “What of your mother, Lady Betarrini? Why such care for your sister, when it was your mother the two of you came to our country seeking?”

I hesitated. I thought of Mom, so far away, and tears came easily. “I fear she is lost to me for good,” I said, in little more than a whisper. The tears welled so deep that Marcello and Luca half rose from their chairs. What was such action? Guys in my time didn’t freak out at the sight of tears.

Lady Rossi wiped her mouth on the tablecloth—something I’d seen them all do—and leaned back, catlike eyes upon me. She was on to me. As was Lord Foraboschi—I could tell by the lines on his forehead. But I was on a roll.

I rose and looked to Lord Forelli. “I beg your pardon, m’lord. I fear the day has taxed me and I must retire.” Where did I get such phrasing? It surprised me that it came so easily. I turned in a rush and swept between the two long tables toward the exit, all eyes on me.

“Lady Betarrini,” boomed the elder lord, his voice echoing around the chamber.

I paused, collected myself, and then turned to face him. Marcello and Luca still stood, staring after me, but I consciously turned my eyes to Lord Forelli.

“We shall aid you in your quest. Take your rest. Come sunup, our men will set out and report to you come evening. They are most thorough.”

“It is as you say,” I said, keeping my voice level. “They are most thorough. If they were not, I would not have escaped with my life this day. But I confess that I cannot rest while Lia—Evangelia—is missing. I beg you to allow me to join them in searching for my sister.”

The lord’s face twisted in astonishment at my request. Then, after a breath, Fortino leaned over and whispered in his father’s ear. Lord Forelli straightened and looked hard at me. “I grant you permission, m’lady, even though I believe it foolhardy. Be advised that while Marcello and his men won the day, it was but one battle in a long war with our neighbors. I can promise no rescue if you are captured. Or, indeed, if your sister is already in their foul hands.”

“I understand.” I bobbed in a quick curtsy, as I’d seen others do. “Thank you, m’lord.”

He waved me off, and I turned and fled the room. As I shut the heavy door, I heard conversation erupt around all three tables. It mattered not that they were rife with gossip about me—rife? who said a word like rife? What was happening to me?—the important part was that we’d set off tomorrow, in search of Lia. That was, if I didn’t wake up from this dream before then. And if I didn’t find her, perhaps I could slip back to the tomb and try my hand atop the print.… Maybe it was coincidence that the time shift had only happened when we’d both placed our hands on the prints. Maybe it just had been the right moment, the right time of day.… Maybe Lia hadn’t leaped through time at all.

I was nearly across the courtyard when he took my arm and whirled me around. I gasped and then honestly brought my hand to my chest, nearly scared out of my mind. “Marcello. I mean, er, Lord Marcello. What is it? You’re hurting me.”

He grimaced as if sorry, instantly dropping his hand. “Sir is my title. There is no lord here but my father.”

But I’d heard the others refer to him as m’lord. It was all very confusing.…

“What do you think you are doing? To enter those woods again is foolhardy. My father does not jest when he speaks of the danger from the Paratores.”

“And I relieved him—and you—of any responsibility. I fully comprehend your warning.”

I resumed walking, leaving him behind me, but he hurried ahead and faced me, halting me again. He was even more frightfully handsome in the deep shadows, torchlight upon one side of his face. “Mayhap it’s different among the Normans. These people, the Paratores”—he spit out the name like it burned his mouth with poison—“are unscrupulous.”

“Again, I understand your warning. It is my life, m’lord. Allow me to live it as I see fit.”

“But that is just it! I endeavor to aid you in living it.”

I studied him for a long moment. He ran his hand through his curly hair, hair that was pulled back with a leather band but came loose as my own so often did. Who died and made him my guardian? Sheesh, I was all for the chivalrous knight thing, but this was getting to be a bit much.…

“Lady Gabriella, we will make far better time without you,” he said carefully, dragging his eyes to meet mine.

So it was my lousy sidesaddle technique that made him hesitate. I almost laughed aloud. “I’ll fare better tomorrow—”

“Tomorrow?” he asked blankly.

“Yes, tomorrow.” I frowned. “As in…the day after tonight?”

“Ahh, we say, ‘on the morrow.’”

“On the morrow, then,” I amended in irritation. “You will send a maid to awaken me?”

“I cannot promise that,” he said with a small shake of his head. It wasn’t that he didn’t think he could find anyone up to the task, I decided. He intended to use my weariness against me.

“Fine. I will be in the courtyard at sunrise,” I said, stepping forward to tap him on the chest. “With or without your aid.”

With that, I turned and rushed the remaining steps across the courtyard and through the door. I let it slam behind me, then hurried down the dark corridor, the thick candle at the end now sputtering, melted down, and through the door to my room. I set the latch and slid a bar through two hoops—their form of a dead bolt, I guessed.

It was then that I looked behind me. A maid had been there, had turned down my bed—little more than a straw mattress with woolen blankets—and lit a candle. I was grateful. This room would’ve been really lonely and more than a little scary without it.

I hurried over to the bed and climbed in, pulling the covers up to my chin and staring at the flickering candle that waved in the slight breeze coming through my tiny, high windows. There was no pillow, so I bunched together a portion of the blanket and laid my head down on it, still staring at the golden flame glowing in bright blue at its center.

I wanted to forget Marcello’s lingering gaze, the dagger glances of Lady Rossi, and the curious looks of everyone else. I wanted to be home. Now.

I glanced up to the crucifix above me, then back to the flame. “I know I’ve never been a praying sort of person, God,” I whispered. “But I’m hoping You can hear me, lost in this time warp. Please, please, please take me home. Let me wake up in the apartment, with the avocado-green carpet and seventies fridge. Let me hear Lia talking in her sleep. Let me find Mom making eggs at the stove, demanding that I eat just a bite. That’s all I want, Lord. To be home. Take me home.”

I hesitated. “Not home home,” I clarified, hoping He didn’t misunderstand me and think heaven. “I mean home.” I sighed. “You know what I mean. Right?”

I sighed again, suddenly bone weary. And with that, somehow, when I thought it was going to be impossible, I was asleep.