Torrent (30 page)

“Conte Lerici,” Marcello said. “May I present my intended, Lady Gabriella Betarrini?”

Conte Lerici gave me a slow smile, and warmth entered his calculating eyes. “M’lady,” he said, bowing over my hand but not kissing it. “’Tis far more an honor than you realize.”

I gave him a puzzled look.

“During the Great Battle,” he explained, still holding my hand and straightening, “you led the bulk of Firenze’s men away from my castello, sparing it that night.”

“I confess, Conte Lerici,” I said with a regretful smile, glancing over his shoulder at the dozen men, “that I had no idea where I was leading those enemy forces. I only knew I was to lead them away from Marcello. And I was attempting to preserve my own life at the same time.”

“Ahh,” he said, joining me in my smile. “Such is my fortune.” His eyes roamed past me to Lia.

“Uh-uh,” Luca said playfully, taking Lerici’s arm next in greeting. “That one is
my
lady,” he said, grinning into the man’s eyes. They were about the same height.

“Seems as if I shouldn’t have tarried so long in the West,” Conte Lerici said. “’Twas here that I might have found my contessa.”

“After the battle we shall focus on nothing but your quest,” Luca pledged.

The visitor laughed, a deep, genuine sound, and I liked him better for it. Based on the easy camaraderie among the men, I knew the count had to be one of the ten Marcello had sent for—those in the brotherhood forged so long ago.

Further introductions were made and the men were given food, the horses water and oats. “The finest archers between Roma and Venezia,” Marcello said in my ear, gleeful. “Had he brought a hundred men on horses instead, I would have still opted for those twelve.”

“We should put Lia with them,” I offered. “She has ideas on where to hide archers in preparation.”

“Excellent. Let’s get them in place soon, far before the battle begins.”

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 lot 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.