Tributary (River of Time 3.2 Novella) (2 page)

Luca was dozing at a table, his head on his crossed arms. I shook my head. The guy could sleep anywhere it seemed. And wake chipper as happy as if he’d had eight hours in a Marriott king-sized bed.

It was completely aggravating.

I closed my eyes and thought of fine hotel sheets, silky and smooth to the touch. I was homesick. Seriously homesick. Like none of my family seemed to be. Everyone else seemed to have settled in. Each of us had had our speed bumps, but generally, they all seemed pretty content. Meanwhile, I was a mess. Becoming more grumpy and agitated with every passing day. Torn between my family, my adorable boyfriend, and the longing for home. Meaning twenty-first century Colorado.

A knight appeared at the door. “M’lord, there are two men at the gates, asking if we’ve seen a girl matching this one’s description.” He nodded toward our unconscious patient.

Luca was up, rubbing his face. “Want me to see to it?”

“Nay,” Marcello said. “I want you to see them in.”

Gabi looked at him in surprise, and I saw that Rodolfo had paused outside the door.

“You want us to allow the Fiorentini
in?
” Luca said.

“They are two men,” Marcello said. “What harm can they do? It will create much more difficulty for us if they know she is here and they cannot see that we’re doing our best to care for her.”

“Understood, m’lord. I’ll show them the way,” Luca said.

We all glanced at one another. Rodolfo finally came in and went to the girl’s bedside, taking her hand in his. “Wake, friend, from your slumber,” he urged. We all know what he was thinking—if she could regain consciousness before her people saw her…

But she did not stir.

They arrived shortly thereafter, two men, one burly, one slight. Luca and three knights followed them in. “Alessandra!” said the smaller one, rushing to her side, kneeling and stroking her head.

“You know her, friend?” Marcello said.

The man continued staring at her, caressing her forehead. “My daughter, Alessandra Donatelli.” His eyes hardened. “What happened to her?”

“She was hunting, and ran into us,” Rodolfo said, stepping forward. “We were startled. She fell from her horse and struck a rock.”

The bigger man stepped forward, his eyebrows lowering in a combination of confusion and recognition. “I know you…”

Rodolfo ignored him, focusing on Signore Donatelli. “She came at us so fast, wearing a hat…we didn’t know—”

“Why…you are Lord Greco!” said Donatelli’s companion, taking another step to face him and clenching his fists as if he meant to strike.

“Nay!” Marcello said, stepping between them. “Be at peace!”

“I served in your contingent, before you turned traitor!”

Rodolfo finally met his eye. The muscles in his jaw tensed. “There were many nuances of my decision of which you are unaware—”

“Should have figured that you would hide here,” the big man sneered, glancing over at Marcello with hatred. He said the word
here
as if we were living in some sort of swampy pit rather than Castello Forelli. Luca and another knight came up behind Marcello, ready to move with but a word from their lord.

“There will be no good end to such a conversation,” Marcello said, keeping his tone calm, his voice low. “Let’s speak only of Alessandra. She is what you are here for, correct?”

“Yes,” Signore Donatelli said. “What is the matter with her?”

Marcello eyed him. “She came at us with a spear. One of my knights intercepted her, and their horses collided. She went down to the ground, and hit her head on a rock.” He frowned and shook his head. “She has not awakened since.”

“We shall take her,” Signore Donatelli said, rising. “Back home where we might see to her ourselves.”

“Nay,” Mom said, rising with him. She reached out a hand. “Please. Let us watch over her. I’ve had some experience with—”

“You propose we leave this man’s daughter
here?
” barked his friend, looking at her incredulously. “When we’ve spent two days trying to find her?”

“Hear me,” Mom said, focusing on Alessandra’s father. “I have some knowledge on how to treat your daughter. She shouldn’t be moved. And you can see that we’ve treated her as one of our own, can you not?”

“She is not
your own
,” spat the big man, again stepping forward in a threatening manner. Marcello gave up and turned away, while Luca and the other knight restrained the man by each taking hold of an arm. “She belongs with us!” he bellowed.

“Cease your threatening tone,” Marcello said, “or you shall be escorted out to wait on your companion.” He sighed. “We only want her to remain here until she is well.”

“We shall see to her healing,” said the big man. “Release her at once!” He tried to wrench free, but the men held on.

Marcello took a deep breath and clenched and released his fists, trying to control his temper. “What is your name?”

“Signore Motini.”

“Signore Motini, you and I both know that if we release her, and the worst happens, we shall be held accountable. Our only choice is to treat Alessandra as a welcome guest. Not a prisoner,” Marcello’s eyes shifted to Signore Donatelli. “You are both welcome to remain here, with her, until she is—”

“We cannot stay here!” spat Motini. “We’ll be considered the likes of
him,
” he said, jutting out his chin in Rodolfo’s direction. “Banished from Firenze!”

I had to hand it to Rodolfo. They were about the same size, but I knew he could take this Motini dude in seconds. I’d seen him in battle. But he merely glowered back at him, his dark eyes frightfully steady, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Remove him,” Marcello said.

The men did as he asked. But it took all four of them.

Alessandra’s father looked stricken as his friend was taken away. The hall door slammed and we were finally left in silence.

“I know that this is a most confusing situation,” Marcello said, staring into the older man’s eyes. “Upon my life, no further harm will come to your daughter. Give Lady Betarrini but five more days to tend to her.”

“
Marcello,
” Gabi whispered. He couldn’t make such promises. We didn’t know if the girl would ever regain consciousness. What would happen if she died?

But Marcello only focused on Signore Donatelli. “She must stay here. To move her shall certainly only invite death near. If I thought it was best for her to leave, would I not send her off with you, gladly?”

The man looked up and into Marcello’s eyes for a long moment, while we all held our breath.

Signore Donatelli considered him, then nodded. “Upon your life. You shall return her to me in good stead.”

Marcello reached out his arm, and the girl’s father took it. “Upon my life.”

Alessandra heard the men talking, at first, as if they were in another room. Then gradually, she realized they were close. Right beside her. Gradually, her head stopped spinning. But try as she might, she could not make her eyes open, speak, or move her arms.

What ails me?
She thought in a panic.
Why can I not move?

She redoubled her efforts to move, to speak, all to no avail.

Swirling in terror, she forced herself to listen to the men, to try and place their voices. To draw comfort from them. Why did they sound like strangers?

“You cannot continue to punish yourself so, Rodolfo,” said a kind, male voice.

“Punish myself?” scoffed the other. Rodolfo? “There is no need. God is doing a fine job of it.”

“You had come so far. Then this bit of a Fiorentini arrives and you fall back into your whirlpool of doubt.”

“Mayhap I’ve only deluded myself,” Rodolfo said. His tone was dark, tortured. “Convinced myself I belong here. That I belong anywhere, now. I only draw Marcello’s enemies closer, by my presence.”

“Nay. You made a choice. An honorable choice. Truly, our sails were set long ago, when we took the mark of the brotherhood. Can you not learn to go with the wind?”

The screech of wood on stone told Alessandra that one of the men stood, or brushed against a chair. “And what if I cannot forgive myself?”

The second man let out a scoffing laugh. “You place yourself in the Savior’s position alone, man! What a preposterous notion—to forgive oneself? He has done the task. Forgiven all sins, past and present and future. You accept the power of it or you do not.”

Rodolfo paused. “Surely there is something I can do…some pilgrimage I must make…”

“You want a task? Here ‘tis. Commit this girl to your care. To see her restored to her family.”

“The girl? What good would that do?”

“Come now. She’s a Fiorentini in need. Vulnerable. And since your betrayal of her people chafes you, mayhap caring for her will be the balm you need.”

The other remained silent.

“Surely a female as comely as this isn’t difficult to—”

“You’re speaking nonsense, Tomas.”

“You wanted penance. I’m suggesting a path. And while you’re keeping an eye on our pretty guest, ask God to chip away at the pride that holds you captive, so wrapped in chains you can’t reach the gifts that are at your feet.”

“Pride?” Rodolfo sputtered. “What is left of my pride?”

“Apparently enough to keep you entrapped.”

“You do not know of what you speak,” Rodolfo said, suddenly sounding dangerous, powerful, angry.

“Nay? Are you certain?” answered Tomas, unperturbed.

His companion fell silent again.

“Mayhap this one has been sent here to help you find the resolution you seek.” Tomas said, and by the sound of his voice, Alessandra was sure he was turning to look upon her. “Seek the Lord’s guidance, Rodolfo. You’ll find life is far less a struggle with the wind at your back.”

Alessandra wanted to keep listening. To understand. To find out if these two would find resolution, but her mind was spinning, disconnected visions coming to her, as if in dreams. She heard pages turning, smelled the distinct odor of parchment and ink, lambskin—a book. The man, Tomas, was speaking in Latin while she struggled to cling to this unseen world.
He must be a priest
, she thought.
And he is praying over me
.

And then she could not fight it any longer, lulled by the priest’s gentle prayers, she succumbed to the pull to rest, rest, rest…

***

~EVANGELIA~

I shivered as the chill of deep night settled in. Gabi, feeling ill, had gone off to bed, and since Mom hadn’t slept in a couple of days, I’d persuaded her to let me take a turn, watching over our guest.
Alessandra. A beautiful name for a beautiful girl
, I thought as I sketched her profile on my parchment, mounted on a board. She was quintessentially Italian—about five-foot-four, olive skin, long, dark lashes, lovely cheekbones, bigger, Roman nose, lush lips. As entertaining as it was to sketch a Tuscan Sleeping Beauty, I just wished she’d wake and go home…And kill this seed that promised to turn into a whole new crop of Forelli-hate.

Firenze didn’t need much more of a push to come calling again. We’d been in an uneasy truce for more than a year now. But none of us truly believed it’d hold. And I just wasn’t ready to take up my bow against anybody else. There’d been enough killing. So, so much killing last year…and the year before that…

Rodolfo stood at one end of the room, like a silent, brooding archangel, one boot propped on the stone wall behind him, chin in hand, half-dozing.
The man refuses to give in to sleep
…He was so dang intense about everything. Someday, he had to find a way to lighten up or he was never going to get a girl.

Luca, noticing me shiver, picked up a wool blanket from a rack in the corner and wrapped it around me, leaving his hands on my shoulders in silent encouragement. A smile tugged at the corner of my lips and I reached up to lay my fingers over his for a moment.

Gabi, Mom and Dad—over the last year, they’d settled into life here in Medievalville like it was some exotic vacation destination. If it wasn’t for the fact that I was crazy-wild to be a family again—and for cute Luca always nearby, ready to try and make me smile—I might’ve run into the Tuscan forest screaming, convinced I’d gone mental.  Some days I could just live my life. Enjoy it even. Other days I’d pause and stare at half-dressed knights sparring, maids hauling up water from a well, smoke coming from the kitchen chimney, and try to get my modern brain and my ancient surroundings to match up. But there was a serious sort of disconnect between the two.

For a while, Gabi worked hard at helping me along, aware that I’d sacrificed a lot to stay here, so she could stay here. But ever since she’d gotten married, all she really had time for was Marcello.
Marcello, Marcello, Marcello. Blah, blah, blah.
It was kind of nauseating, really.

And totally sweet.

And epically romantic.

So yeah…I was a little conflicted. I’d kinda gained my dad and lost my sis. Not to be a whiner or anything…I know that sisters have close times and distant times…but I wasn’t expecting the my-sis-permanently-left-me-for-a-guy feelings until I was in my twenties or thirties, you know? Not when I was just about to turn seventeen.

“Lia,” Luca said, edging closer again.

I shook off my dream-like thoughts, my eyes focusing on our patient again. She was shifting, turning her head. I sensed Rodolfo move from the wall, instantly shaking off his doze. He’d become a little obsessed with this girl, feeling responsible for how he'd endangered Castello Forelli with this latest fumble.

Our worst fear was that when her dad came back for her, he’d come with Fiorentini soldiers. And she wouldn’t be alive when they reached us. Now, seeing her move, hope surged within me. All would be well! No new battle would be upon us! Only a new, potential act of peace, passing a wandering Fiorentini daughter back into the arms of her father, in better health than when we met her. Surely that’d be worth something…

Alessandra squeezed her eyes shut and waved her head back and forth. Then her eyes, wide and brown and beautiful, blinked and opened, searching the ceiling of the room first, then, sensing us, roaming over our direction.