Cascade Page 18

  I could see he’d decided on his path of attack. I pushed back my hair, over my shoulder, out of my way, lifting my sword. I tried to ignore the gruesome nubs of his ears, wondering if he’d take mine as payback.

  He never paused as he approached, drawing his sword as if settling in for a friendly spar. I managed to block his first blow, feeling the pain radiate down my arms and shoulders as I held him back. But his fury fueled his movements, and he focused on forcing me to my right leg, again and again. With four, maybe five strikes, my sword went skittering away over the rounded creek stones. The men cheered.

  I closed my eyes, waiting for what would come next.

  He grabbed hold of my hair, winding it in his fist, and I cried out, reaching up.

  He pulled my face close to his. I could smell the rot of his teeth, saw again where the Sienese had knocked some of them out. “Where is your sister?” he bit out, word by word.

  “I know not.”

  He let go of my hair and slapped me, hard, with the back of his hand. Then hauled me up again by the hair, pulling my head back until I could feel his breath on my throat. “Where…is…your…sister?” he screamed. He knew what I’d seen on that map; he feared she was off to do exactly as I had told her. Tell Fortino. Warn Siena.

  I let a smile begin to spread across my face, feeling a little hysterical, distant.

  “Deep in the wood,” I said. “Across the creek. Look for her, won’t you, m’lord? She’d love to sink an arrow into your neck.”

  “M’lord,” called a knight. “One man down, dagger in his back. But the two that took arrows—one of their horses is missing.”

  Paratore pulled me closer. “She had better not reach Siena, or I shall slice the skin from your beautiful body myself,” he whispered in my ear. He tossed me aside, and I fell to the rocks. The pain from my thigh and ribs shook me so fiercely, I thought I might throw up.

  “Fifty of you, down this creek bed. See that you find Lady Evangelia Betarrini and bring her back in chains, or don’t come back at all. She seeks to warn Siena of our attack.”

  I tried to rise, but Paratore put a boot to my back and shoved me down. If I was going to throw up, I hoped I could hold it until I could do so all over him.

  “Twenty more of you take to the woods, just to be certain she is not intending to make her way under the cover of trees. We all know how wolves like the shadows of the forest.”

  Men chuckled. Troops set off at once. I closed my eyes, hearing the thunderous sound of all those horses, their sole task to capture my sister. Hurry, Lia…

  He was behind me, stepping down hard, keeping me from breathing. The pain was so great from my ribs, I cried out with the last bit of air in my lungs. He was untying the tunic at my back. He lifted me up, leaving the vintner’s old tunic on the stones before me, leaving me covered with nothing but my thin shirt and the strips of cloth Lia had wound around my torso that morning. I faltered, hunched over, gasping for air.

  He motioned for two knights to come forward. “Hold her arms.”

  I focused on finding my breath as he studied his gloved hands. “Do you know,” he said, turning toward me and cocking his head, “that ’tis illegal in Firenze for a woman to dress as a man?”

  “How fortunate for me,” I shot back, “that my loyalties lie with Siena.”

  He stared back into my eyes. “Ahh, but you are not in Siena,” he said. He took hold of the neckline of my shirt and ripped it down the center. Cold air rushed across my torso. He smiled and then backed away, lifting a hand behind him at me, as if I were a bit of evidence for a prosecuting attorney. “This is what becomes of women who are allowed to set their feminine side aside and act as men!”

  The men growled their dismay. Again, Marcello’s words of warning came echoing through my mind. Fight—

  Paratore turned. “Mayhap this wench need only be reminded what it is to be created female,” he said, spitting the last word in my face. He paused and eyed me up and down, studying the knot of rope that held my tights up. Please, God, no…

  “That is quite enough, Lord Paratore,” said Lord Greco, now shoving his way into the inner circle. “Lady Betarrini is my charge. The lords of Firenze asked me to fetch her and her sister.”

  “And yet it is I who has captured her,” Paratore said, stepping between me and Lord Greco.

  Lord Greco stared at Paratore, not rising to his bait. “You sent men after her sister?”

  “Fifty. They will return with her before sunup.”

  Lord Greco looked to the tracker at his side and lifted his chin in the direction of the creek. “Go and make certain that is the way of it.” The tracker set off to do his master’s bidding. I sensed Paratore bristle.

  Fantastic. Caught between two dudes in a serious turf war. Could this night get any better?

  “I shall make it known that it was you and your men who brought Lady Gabriella Betarrini to bay.” He moved around Lord Paratore and gruffly took hold of my arm. “The lords of Firenze will be most grateful.”

  Paratore glanced back at me and eyed me up and down again, considering. At last, he spit out, “’Tis the eve of battle. I’ve already expended far too much of my strength on this wench.”

  I didn’t know what freaked me out more. The idea of being at the mercy of Lord Paratore—or that they planned to attack Siena tomorrow. Tomorrow. Had I counted the days wrong?

  Paratore wrenched Greco’s hand from my arm, and I tensed, waiting for him to grab me back, or for a blow. But Paratore only came close, staring down at me. Men hooted and called. Slowly, a smile lifted the corners of his mouth. I glanced to the side, away from his horrid teeth and ear holes. “You’ll go with him now, She-Wolf,” he said, his breath washing down the side of my cheek. “But after we deal this deathblow to Siena and those who serve her, I shall come and claim you as my rightful bounty. I shall teach you what it means to be a woman in my keep.”

  Defiant, I dragged my eyes up to meet his.

  He studied me. “Yes,” he said, nodding. “It shall be a pleasure to see that spirit beaten from your eyes. You’ll remember my dungeon, and the devices there…” He circled me, letting me remember the horrible contraptions he’d threatened Lia with. “You shall not escape me as your sister once did. And far greater will be the joy of taking Marcello Forelli’s woman as my own.”

  “You shall never have me.”

  He gave me a closed-lip, sly smile. “Won’t I? Don’t be so certain, She-Wolf.” He wrapped an arm around me and then pulled me to him, making me gasp with pain. I pushed against him, struggling to get away, but he held me effortlessly. He grabbed one wrist, turned it, and pushed it up, behind my back, stilling my struggle at once.

  The men cheered again, closing in, enjoying this spectacle.

  “I shall hunt down Fortino and cut his throat. Relieve Lady Rossi of her bridal duties, so that she can come to Firenze, where she shall be received as a queen.”

  I drew back. So Romana was in on it?

  “Lord Paratore,” Lord Greco cut in, but Paratore ignored him, leaning in toward me.

  “But I shall allow Marcello to live. I want him to know what it is to be without his home. And even better, to know that you are in my keep. To cut your ears from your head. Or mayhap your nose.”

  “Lord Paratore,” said Lord Greco, stepping in again. “Release her to me.”

  Lord Paratore abruptly let me go and carefully set my hand upon Lord Greco’s arm, as if we were at a ball and Lord Greco was merely my next dance partner. Which in a crazy way, I suppose he was…

  “Do not pine for me, She-Wolf,” he called, hands lifted as he backed away from me.

  The men laughed and then turned to follow him. All but twelve, apparently Lord Greco’s men.

  I was shaking, feeling weak. I glanced up at him. “I suppose I ought to be grateful to you,” I said. Maybe I could wiggle my way into his heart. Make him like me. Help me out. Or at least weaken his resolve—

  “Ah, no,” he said, sweeping h
is cape from his shoulders and gently wrapping it around mine. Carefully, kindly he tied it at my neck, as if I were a child on my way out to school, then met my gaze. “While I am not the vindictive, lecherous cad that Lord Paratore is, you’ll find that I have far greater ambitions. And that, my friend, can make me quite ruthless.”

  I swallowed. He was really handsome. I mean, really, really handsome. Making me think it wouldn’t be hard to pretend—pretend that I was attracted to him. But there was no warmth in his watchful gaze, and his words had sent a cold shudder of fear through me, slamming down on any hope like a gate across a castle door.

  Marcello had not feared Lord Paratore when he warned me—I was pretty sure he didn’t even think Paratore was part of the mix. He had assumed Paratore was exiled, long gone.

  He had feared that others in Firenze would capture me.

  Men like Lord Greco.

  And I was not eager to find out why.

  CHAPTER 19

  It was well past midnight when we returned to camp, me riding behind Lord Greco. He positioned guards on the outside of all four sides of the tent. I glanced to my left, considering my chances at escape, but when I glanced back to the right, Lord Greco stared down at me with a look that said don’t even think about it.

  Sighing, I preceded him into his tent, and with a low-toned word, he sent a servant off to fetch bandages and hot water.

  He laid out a clean shirt and another pair of leggings across the bed. “Forgive me, m’lady,” he said with a small smile. “I didn’t think to pack a gown for you.”

  “It will be well,” I said. I’d be swimming in his clothes, but at least they were clean.

  He ducked his head and stared at me. “Are you able to manage changing? The camp physician should be here any moment…”

  “Yes,” I said quickly. “I shall manage.”

  He picked up the clothes and nodded to a makeshift screen across the floor, little more than a blanket hanging over a stretched rope, in the corner. “Forgive me, m’lady, but I must keep my eyes on you at all times.” He lifted a brow. “Given that you have experience in slipping through the backs of tents. You shall find reasonable modesty there.”

  Glaring at him, I grabbed the shirt and leggings from his hands and turned to limp over to the screen. There, I untied his cape and set it to one side, then eased my tattered shirt from my shoulders. I looked down at my bandages, dirty, bloody, knowing that I’d done more damage to my ribs this evening. I glanced at Lord Greco over the blanket’s edge, making sure he was staying put; he stared dolefully back into my eyes, the only part of me he could see.

  I quickly glanced down, untied the rope at my waist and let the ragged, filthy leggings fall. Gingerly, I turned my right leg outward, trying to see the back of my leg. Already, the bruising was stretching across the span of it and down toward my knee. Hammy. The ol’ hamstring. Yessiree, I really did it this time. But at least it’s not a slice to my gut again. Now that was bad…

  “Lady Betarrini,” he said.

  I peeked over the blanket, and he gestured toward a tall, spidery man beside him. “The doctor is here to see to you. If you wish for him to examine your leg, you can come out in the shirt alone. I shall turn my back.”

  I hesitated, even as he turned. “I thought you had to keep your eyes on me at all times.”

  “You wish for me to watch?”

  “Nay!”

  He smiled over his shoulder and then turned fully away again. “Even you would not be brave nor foolish enough to flee into a camp full of soldiers in naught but a shirt.”

  He had me there. I sighed and then edged around the screen.

  The doctor gave me a kindly, fatherly look. “Come closer to the light, m’lady, if you please. Here, to this chair.”

  I limped over to him, and he studied me from head to toe, viewing me in the detached manner of a medical professional. He took my hands and turned them palm up, frowning over the deep gouges there and along my left arm. He let go of them and lifted my hair, finding the cut on my forehead, the other at the top right of my chest. “Turn, please.”

  I did so and he squatted behind me, his knees cracking as he did so. I flinched when he touched my leg with cold, thin fingers.

  “Forgive me, my dear. Now this might hurt a bit more. Hold onto that post, please.”

  I nodded and tried not to scream as he dug his thumbs in and ran them down the length of my thigh, apparently feeling for a tear. He took hold of my ankle and slowly made me flex my knee, and I cried out. I gripped the post so hard I thought I might leave dents in the wood. Lord Greco was before me in an instant, covering my hands with his, frowning in concern. Confused by the empathy I saw on his face, I studied him, but then the doctor’s hands were examining my hurt leg again. I bit my lip as I screamed, trying to keep it to myself. And failing.

  The doctor rose. “I am done,” he said to me. He looked to Lord Greco. “Injured muscle,” he said. “It shall take some time to heal, but I do not believe it is torn. We must bandage it tightly, and she must rest.”

  “No dancing,” Lord Greco said to me, his furrowed brow lifting in the center.

  “Oh, and there was that ball I had hoped to attend,” I returned.

  Lord Greco gave me a small smile. He admired me. I felt it. It ignited a tiny hope in my heart.

  “Please, m’lord, turn away again as I examine the lady’s ribs.”

  Lord Greco immediately did as he was told. I studied his broad back as the doctor methodically unwound the strips from my torso, trying to ignore the humiliation of the moment. Rodolfo Greco. He and Marcello had been friends as boys. He was taller than Marcello by a couple of inches. But they had similar backs, strength through the shoulders, arms.

  I covered my breasts as the last of the bandage slipped away. The doctor turned me toward the light and gently ran his cold fingers along one rib and then another, then still another. “Broken, two of them,” he muttered. “With more severely bruised.” He looked into my eyes and let Lord Greco’s shirt fall to cover my torso like a nightshirt again. “The Lord kept you from death. Had those ribs moved much more, they might have punctured a lung.”

  “God be praised,” I said numbly.

  “Along with his saints,” said the doctor, nodding. “I shall wash your scrapes and cuts, and bind them. Then I shall bind your ribs and thigh. Give you something for the pain”—he arched an admiring brow—“which must be considerable. That should keep you until morn.” He took me by the elbow and ushered me over to Lord Greco’s narrow bed. There he did as he had said, seeing to all my needs in a max of twenty minutes. At the end, he slipped some powder from a parchment packet and leaves from a small box into a cup of hot water. He let it steep for a minute, then strained out the leaves and handed it to me. “Drink it down. It shall help you sleep.”

  I hesitated. The last time I’d taken medicine a doctor had given me, I’d very nearly lost my life.

  He straightened and looked over to Lord Greco.

  “Drink it,” Lord Greco said, staring at me, hard.

  Reluctantly, I brought it to my lips and smelled. It didn’t have any of the cut-grass smell the poison had held. It smelled of spearmint and flowers. I sipped, rolling it over my tongue.

  “It is what he says it is, m’lady,” Lord Greco said with a sigh.

  “I shall return come daybreak,” said the doctor.

  “’Tis but hours away,” Greco said.

  The doctor nodded. “Once the battle begins, I shall not have time to see to her.”

  “’Tis well. We shall be away on the morrow, en route to Firenze.” He glanced back at me, as I drained the cup, and then to the doctor. “No signs of the plague on her?”

  The tall, thin man’s eyes narrowed, and then he shook his head. “Nay. You should have warned me, m’lord, that you suspected it.”

  “Thank you, Doctor,” he said, ignoring the man’s complaint. They walked to the tent flap, and Lord Greco paused to speak to the knights outside.

>   Tomorrow. He meant to take me to the city tomorrow. My eyes drifted to the southern wall of the tent. Marcello…

  Greco was before me, then. How’d he do that? He moved as swiftly and stealthily as a cat! My head felt groggy, like I’d had too much wine. The medicine…

  “Lie down,” he said gently.

  I frowned. Did he mean to—

  “Nay, m’lady,” he said, reading the fear in my eyes. “We are both in need of rest. Trust me. Lie down. On your back.”

  I hardly had a choice, with him hovering over me. I lowered myself, suspiciously staring up at him. Crazily there were three of him now. All three Lord Grecos moved to the bottom of the cot and unfolded the heavy blanket, pulling it up and over me. They really weren’t looking at me with anything more than the eyes of a friend. Maybe they’re gay…

  I closed my eyes, knowing it was the drug making me think there were three when there was only one. I was so terribly tired. So terribly, horribly, mind-blowingly weary.

  I peeked just in time to see him—thankfully back to one person—throw out a second blanket beside the cot, sit down on it, and then put out his hand. “Your right hand, please.”

  Frowning sleepily, I reached out my hand. He took it and tied a thin rope around my wrist, tight enough that there was no way I’d get it off without a knife, and yet still with enough room to give my fingers circulation. “This way,” he said, tying the other end of the three-foot rope to his right wrist, “I shall know if you even try to roll over in your sleep.”

  “Excellent. I always wanted a watchdog.”

  “Every She-Wolf deserves one,” he returned evenly. He finished his task and stretched out beside me.

  I thought of trying to wait him out, wait until he was snoring to work on the knots that held my wrist. But as I listened to his slow, rhythmic breathing, watched the rise and fall of his shoulder in the candlelight, I knew that this night, there was no fight left in me.

  CHAPTER 20

  It was my throbbing head and ribs that woke me first, as dawn lit the outside, changing the color of the tent from plum to lavender. Kind of a girly color for a knight, I thought. Maybe he really is gay.