CHAPTER 5

I studied his approach, his speed, bracing myself for the impact, thinking through how I might parry his strike.

And that was when someone tackled me from the side.

It so surprised me that when I hit the ground, him atop me, it knocked the wind out of me.

A moment later a horse thundered past. Out of the corner of my eye, I had seen a man—Marcello?—deflect a swooping sword aimed right at where I had once stood.

I wanted to rise, to turn, to do anything, but all I could do was focus on making my body take a breath. Contract, lungs! Fill! I tried not to panic, but I was losing the fight. Tears streamed from my eyes.

I heard the sounds of battle, not five feet from me, and I rolled over to see. Something about that action allowed me my first breath, and I rapidly took several. Marcello was fighting a man—the man I’d seen yesterday at the tombs. It had to be the Paratore lord. Marcello’s counterpart. Had Marcello taken me out just so he could fight the man himself? Of all the stupid, pig-headed—

Marcello glanced back at me, alarm again in his eyes. But he wasn’t staring at the man he battled, but at something down the path. “M’lady, take cover!”

Cover? Cover! I’d show him.… I rose, half-crouched, and took another breath, trying to steady my suddenly shaking hands. A huge man on a massive horse was thundering toward me, a sneer on his lips, his eyes on me.

There was no way I could take on Goliath. I mean, a girl’s gotta know her limits. I turned and ran to the rock just as he swept by, his fingertips brushing past my shoulder. My two guardians closed ranks in front of me.

“Bringing women to fight your battles now, Forelli?” the Paratore knight taunted, swinging his sword at Marcello, narrowly missing his chest.

“And you, as always, are low enough to attack one,” Marcello said, through gritted teeth.

“Missed her yesterday,” Paratore said. He tossed a leering glance in my direction. “She appears eager to lift her skirts. It’d please me to take her from you this day.”

I clamped my lips together, chagrined. So that’s what they thought of me banding my skirt to my legs? That I was into sleeping around or something? Oh, brother. I was glad I lived in my own era. There was enough to deal with, then. The massive soldier finally brought his horse to a stop and turned to come back toward us. But his eyes were now on his master. Paratore glanced at him, and in that moment, Marcello’s blade tipped his forearm.

He gasped and took a halting step back. “That’s the second time you’ve dared to strike me in two days, Forelli!”

The Incredible Hulk jumped to the ground and came lumbering over to Marcello. He did not attack him, nor did Marcello raise his sword. Instead, his weapon was at his side. What was this?

“What do you expect? We cannot continue our swordplay and not sustain damage to our persons!” Marcello returned.

Paratore clamped his lips shut, seething. Then, “What are you doing on our land? Are you begging for an all-out war?”

Wasn’t that what we were in?

“We were out for a ride when Lady Betarrini became disoriented and took the wrong trail. We will be off of your land within the hour.”

“See that you are. And try and keep your womenfolk where they belong.”

Marcello strode forward and past his men, staring at me as if I’d done a thousand wrongs. What? Was I the reason for all of this? No, this was a war long fought, a family feud like the Montagues and Capulets, or the Hatfields and McCoys. He wasn’t pinning this on me.

He took my arm and gruffly pulled me along to my horse.

I wrenched my arm from his grip. “I’m perfectly capable of walking on my own. I get it. You’re ticked off. But this cannot all be my fault.”

He frowned down at me, trying to make sense of my words. They came out in a mishmash of Italian and English.

I sighed, looked down at the ground, then back up at Marcello. “Why’d he stop? Why’d he let us go? You guys took down at least two of their men.”

“It is understood,” he said in a hiss.

“What is understood?”

“When an heir is wounded, the battle comes to an end. Anything further and our cities might be drawn into a far greater war.”

Cities. Siena and Florence. These two castles were not just vying for a portion of property; they represented much greater forces.

“But you fight as if you’d like to kill him.”

“As he would like to kill me. We’ve traded wounds on any number of occasions,” he said, cocking his head, a hint of a smile on his lips. So he was enjoying this. At least a little bit.

I shook my head in confusion, trying to sort out their crazy politics, as he led me to his horse. Then I was seriously confused; where was my horse? But then he bent and lifted me to sit behind his saddle and gently untied the strips from my dress. He raised one eyebrow in warning. “You’ve already caught Paratore’s eye. Let’s not give him any other fodder for his dreams, shall we?”

My mouth fell open a little at that. I wanted to protest. Claim my own mount. But he seemed to not only be saying that Paratore thought I was attractive…but that he considered me Dream Material too. The maid’s words of warning that morning echoed through my mind. “Take care, m’lady. You already draw Lord Marcello’s eye.…”

Or was he simply referring to the fact that the man apparently had his mind in the gutter? I sighed and turned toward his broad back as he mounted, trying to find a secure seat on the horse’s rump by bringing my right leg slightly up beneath the skirt and tentatively wrapping my arms around his torso.

I tightened my grip as he grabbed the reins and turned his horse around. He was strong, with not an ounce of fat on him. I could feel muscle beneath his tunic. He smelled of wood fire and leather and earth and sweat. All…man. I shoved down a sudden, silly, stupid, insufferable shiver, of all things, and focused on the men in front of him, again atop their own steeds, my horse tied to the back of Luca’s. They openly gaped at me, behind Marcello.

Paratore’s men had receded into the wood, fifty feet off, watching us. Making sure we were leaving as promised, I guessed.

Luca frowned at Marcello. “M’lord, unless you wish for tongues to wag, mayhap it’s best she ride with me.”

“Nay. She rides with me. At least until we are out of these woods.”

Luca’s face eased, and I steeled myself as Marcello moved his horse into a light trot. I glanced back at Paratore, searching his face. He was hurting, curious, but that was all I could read in his eyes. If he had Lia, would he not have said something? Taunted us with it?

In twenty minutes, we were out of the woods and at a crossroads, presumably leading to either Siena and Firenze—the Italians’ name for Florence. Marcello dismounted and then raised his hands to my waist, lifting me down. I kept my eyes averted, for some reason feeling suddenly shy. Maybe it was because his men stared at us.

“We’re out of Paratore territory,” he explained as he took my hand and led me to my own horse. I saw that one of his men, riding behind us, had retrieved the cursed sidesaddle from its stash in the forest and had once again firmly settled it atop my gelding.

Marcello gave me a small smile and handed me a leather band. “At least bind your hair behind you,” he said lowly. “It won’t do for the women of the castello to see you riding through the gates, hair loose as a maid’s on her wedding day. You’ll never find a moment’s peace. Nor shall I.”

I looked up into his warm eyes, searching for a glimpse of judgment. There was none. Only warning. And a tinge of…admiration.

I took the band from his fingers. He lifted me to the stupid sidesaddle and helped me lodge my feet—now totally filthy, I saw with a grimace—into the hidden stirrups. He handed me the reins with one more lingering look. Our fingers touched briefly, and heat seared my cheeks. He smiled ever so slightly—okay, now what was that about?—and then returned to his own horse.

I shook my head a little, staring at the hoofprints in the sandy soil. I finally meet a guy who’s interesting, and who seems to have a half-interest in me, and it is TOTALLY the wrong time and place. I glanced up at the sky. If You’re out there, God, this is COMPLETELY unfair.

The men were falling back into line, preparing to set off, and I did the same. But my eyes kept crawling back to Marcello. Do not fall for him, Gabi. It is impossible. Impossible! Wrong, on so many levels.

I could see my friend Keisha back home in the States giving me the oh-no-you-didn’t finger wave and shaking her frizzy head. I always tried to do it, but could never pull it off in quite the same way.

Keisha. Hannah. Steph. Images of my friends’ faces from home flashed through my mind, making me take a sharp intake of breath. I had to get back. To my own time. To my family. To my friends.

But first I had to find Lia. Make sure she wasn’t trapped here too. We had to return home…together.

I cleared my throat. “Sir Marcello?”

He glanced back at me.

“Were we to stop in town? Inquire to see if anyone has seen my sister? Or my mother?”

He looked at me for a long moment, his eyebrows lowering, and then his eyes quickly scanned his men whose expressions said I’d stepped out of bounds. Apparently people didn’t ask a young lord his plans. Ridiculous! I was merely asking a logical question.

“We will inquire on the morrow, Lady Betarrini. I believe we’ve done enough searching for one day.”

“But—”

He raised an imperious hand toward me and frowned.

I frowned too, clamping my mouth shut.

So. I guess This Conversation Is Over.

He turned and took off for home, not looking back.

Well, fine, then. I guess there isn’t anything between us after all. Never mind! I thought, shooting arrowed glances at his broad back.

 

We rode into the courtyard late that afternoon, weary, dirty, defeated. I knew the men left thinking they might be bringing home another contender for Belle of the Courtyard, and coming home empty was just, well…lame. They looked at me as if I might be making the whole story up of some blonde, beautiful sister lost in the woods. By and large, these men were far more civilized than boys back at home at Boulder High. They had the courtesy to avert their gazes—but not before I caught enough of a glimpse to figure it out.

I took a sponge bath in my room, pulled on a fresh gown of Lady Forelli’s—with the aid of Giacinta—and then made it through supper, speaking to no one.

Conversation went on all about me. Boisterous tales, low-toned jokes, whispered secrets. But no one spoke to me.

Was it because of my actions today? I felt the echoes of shame, regret, but then shoved them away as fast as I shoved meat and porridge into my mouth, then waited for a passably polite moment to excuse myself. I had done what I had to do. You made the best choice you could at the time, my mother said to me in my head. It was something she always said. Not that charging on ahead, without the boys, had been my best idea.

I wished she were here. Here to tell me how to act, what to say. She was always so good at negotiating tough, new situations. She waded in as I longed to do, waist-deep, figuring it out as she went. How did she do that?

I leaned back from the table, envisioning my mother, her hair as straight and blonde as my sister’s, nose to nose with the Italian archeology officials. She never backed down. Never. She always knew where she was going, and how she was going to get there. How did she know that?

For the first time, I fully wondered what it would be like to be my mother, a Dane in an Italian’s world. When she met my father, she barely even spoke the language. They had conversed in Latin. That’s love, they liked to say, sharing a secret glance. My sister and I always stared wide-eyed at each other when they did that, with a look that said Serious Geek Alert.

I smiled at the memory.

“Happy thought, m’lady?” asked Luca, leaning toward me for the first time, regarding me as he popped a piece of bread into his mouth.

“Indeed,” I returned. “I was thinking of my family.” I forced a smile, but I’m certain that he saw the flash of sorrow in my eyes. I blinked rapidly. Was I tearing up again? “Excuse me,” I said, rising. I had to get out of there.

Awkwardly, all the men at the table rose with me.

I paused and looked around, then back to my half-eaten meal. “Forgive me. I am quite exhausted. I must…retire.” My eyes met Marcello’s. His brow knit together.

“M’lady,” he said with a slight nod of dismissal, opening the door for my escape.

Everyone else echoed his farewell.

I dared not look at any of them.

I practically ran across the courtyard, gasping for breath and giving in to the tears only when I had reached the safety of my room. I lifted a hand to my forehead, lost in thought. What if I couldn’t get back? What if Lia hadn’t come through with me? What if I was alone here, forever, on my own to find my way?

I sank down, my back against the door, sobbing like a little kid.

Seriously. I hadn’t cried that hard in a long time.

When I finally looked up, my sleeves were wet from wiping my eyes and nose. I wasn’t one of those pretty criers, the type that gets a little pink in the cheeks, and their eyes all wide and bright. No, I got the swelling, bloodshot eyes, the dripping nose that made me a candidate for a Nyquil commercial. That was me. Puurty.

Lia was a pretty crier. I always half-teased her, saying I hated her for it. Was that what she’d remember of me? Saying mean things? Did she miss me, too? Did she even know I was gone?

I clenched my temples between the palms of my hands, pressing as if I might be able to squeeze in some clear thinking. What was I to do? What?

I glanced at the crucifix, sighed, and then rose. No, this was up to me. I’d gotten myself into this. I had to get myself out.

The tombs.

My portal.

It was the only way out. Back to Lia. Back to my mom. Back to reality.

Even if I had to get there alone.