DELUGE Page 2

  “Nay, I think not,” I said, standing abruptly. “Please, my friends. We packed a picnic that we’re clearly not going to eat. The greatest thing you might do for me is to sit here and enjoy this pretty afternoon and eat our boar and bread. They’re quite delicious.”

  “Evangelia, are you certain—” Adela began.

  “Yes, yes, I’m certain,” I said hurriedly. I felt badly, cutting them off when they were only trying to help, but I knew that anything I said within Adela’s hearing would be repeated to Luca. And Luca and I had shared enough words today, directly or indirectly.

  I liked Adela well enough. We got along. But I seemed to stir an odd sense of competition with her. Maybe it was because she’d been gone from Luca’s life for so long—off at the nunnery until she realized it wasn’t her calling—and had only just returned to find me invading her territory. Maybe she thought it was going to be like it had been ten years ago when she left for the convent. Luca had been only a boy then, little older than the young squires who followed my dad around like puppies. He was undoubtedly adorable then, along with Marcello and the rest of the brotherhood, who spent their days creating mock battles in the forest and building forts and finding hot springs to skinny-dip in. It made me smile wistfully, longing for Luca to regale me again with tales of their boisterous boyhood.

  I glanced back and saw the chubby Tomas gleefully diving into our picnic basket as if they’d just discovered treasure and Adela smiling and shaking her head at him before looking back at me. Seeing me all too clearly, I thought. As the girl who might make her brother happy…or destroy him.

  Only one person could help me sort this out. Gabi. But she’d already made her decision, and I wasn’t going to bring it up again. I’d agreed to stay here, with her. With Mom and Dad. But I’d never said I’d risk it all. I never said I’d risk my heart. Or babies.

  And the thought of watching Luca die…or our child…

  Well, the thought of that made my heart break into a thousand little pieces.

  GABRIELLA

  I hauled the bucket over the edge of the well and paused, gasping. My hand went to my belly, and I looked around furtively. Had anyone seen me pause?

  Thankfully, it appeared not. Everyone was busy with preparation for the upcoming harvest feast in the castello, and they were scurrying to accomplish three-times their normal duties…that was why I was fetching my own water for my room. The last thing I was going to do was play the whole Lady-of-the-Castello Card just because I was preggers. I was still trying to get a grip on the idea of it myself, frankly, even though my belly was as round as half a Tuscan melon now. I was just glad I’d stopped feeling the need to vomit my guts out every hour. That first trimester was enough to make a girl swear off sex forever.

  But then I caught sight of my husband. And just seeing him stride toward me, every inch of him the most handsome Italian knight I’d ever met, and realizing anew that he was mine, my husband, forever…and, well, I knew we’d likely end up with a ton of kids eventually. The guy was just so irresistible. The way he was scowling at me, silently chastising me for drawing a heavy bucket, all love and concern—

  “Gabriella,” he growled, wrapping one arm around my waist and taking hold of the bucket handle. “What are you doing? You well know your mother said to lift nothing over a stone’s weight.”

  “Everyone’s so busy,” I said, squirming away, aware that we were already drawing every eye in the courtyard. “The least I could do was fetch my own bath water.”

  “I shall bring it,” he said, lifting the bucket and then picking up the second, which was waiting on the ground. “If you need something during this season of the feast, tell me, and I shall see it done.”

  As if he wasn’t busy enough, I thought, meekly following him. As much as I gave him a tender smile for his thoughtfulness, I hated this new sensation of weakness, helplessness. It brought back memories of being wounded. I much preferred feeling strong, wielding a sword. The whole Little-Woman-with-Child scenario? Yeah, that didn’t set well with me.

  “Lord Forelli!” Luca called, just as we were entering the turret door that led to our quarters. We paused and waited as he jogged up to us. His green eyes slid from Marcello then back to me. “Lord and Lady Greco have returned from their travels. They sent us an invitation to join them for supper this night.”

  Marcello glanced at me. Both men were well aware that I preferred to steer clear of our enemy’s old castle, Castello Paratore, even if it was now Castello Greco. The walls just held too many bad memories. But I steeled myself.

  “We shall go,” I said, lightly, trying to take the bucket from Marcello. But he didn’t release it until I met his gaze and gave him an assuring smile.

  “We shall go,” Marcello repeated to Luca.

  The captain of his guard, his cousin, nodded once.

  “You and Evangelia are to attend as well?”

  Luca paused. “We are all invited. But I shall stay here and see to the safety of the keep while you’re away, and send others to guard you.”

  Marcello quirked an eyebrow. “You’d allow Evangelia to go without you?”

  Luca took a breath. “’Tis best if the lady and I are not in the same room.”

  I frowned in confusion, and we both turned to fully face him, but he held up his hands. “Nay, nay. I do not wish to discuss it. Some things are only between the two of us, much as we like to share everything else in this castello.”

  I pursed my lips. I’d get it out of Lia later. Whatever silly tiff this was, they could just get over it.

  “She’ll come. And you must too, Luca. Rodolfo and Alessandra need our support. Our blessing. Let us go and help them celebrate a new beginning for the old castello.”

  He lifted his hands and cocked his head, a hint of that familiar grin on his lips. But trouble lurked around his eyes. “You know I am always eager to partake in good company, especially when ample wine and food are before us. See if your sister can tolerate the idea. Perhaps if we are seated at opposite ends of the table…”

  “It cannot be as bad as all that,” Marcello said. “I want you with us. No further discussion.”

  “Yes, m’lord,” he said faintly. His tone let me know it was much more serious than I had thought. What in the world had happened? “I’ll have the squires saddle horses for us,” he said, “and form a guard as the sun sets.”

  “Thank you, Luca,” I said, reaching out and squeezing his arm. “Might you send a squire with word to my father, over in the warehouse? And to my mother at the tombs?”

  “Consider it done, m’lady,” he said with a quick bow. Then he turned on his heel and left us.

  Mom left each morn for the Etruscan tombs with six men in tow to help her dig. They’d unearthed six of the twelve dome-like structures. Luca liked it because it put some of his bored knights to good physical work each day, even if they thought the project odd and shared superstitious glances. He’d loved putting them to work on the new wing of the castello—the barracks for the knights, the warehouse, the latrine. But as it came close to completion, more specialized work was needed than brute strength, so fewer knights were used—leaving some to go with Mom.

  I checked Lia’s room, the den, and Mom’s new solarium, but she wasn’t to be found. Weary and worried, I returned to our quarters. We’d changed up the rooms since our wedding, adding a library between what was once Marcello’s father’s cavernous room and the more intimate bedroom that was once his mother’s. Here, we had a massive table surrounded by bookshelves, and on one wall, a lovely map that my parents had found in Rome and made a wedding gift to us. We were delighted to do our part to preserve such a historical treasure. We four Betarrinis were a tad obsessed with its missing seas and undiscovered landmasses. Undiscovered as of yet, here in Medievalville.

  Once in a while we were able to forget we’d traveled back in time nearly seven hundred years. The globe, and things like the lack of a real bathroom—man, I missed that—were constant reminders. But th
e pangs of loss were diminishing the longer we stayed. In many ways it seemed like we were always supposed to be here.

  Marcello was already in his chair at the end of the table, going through a stack of papers, dipping his quill in ink and signing while Leo, the skinny new steward, stood over his shoulder, quietly introducing one matter and then another. Mostly their business had to do with the harvest and quantities Marcello wished to store or sell, but when I entered, they were talking about a nearby vineyard that had been stripped of all its remaining grapes during the early morning hours as the vintner slept.

  “Inform Sir Luca,” Marcello said. “We will not tolerate such thievery. Tell him that I wish for patrols to be assigned through the night, if necessary. It will be good to give the men something to do anyway.”

  “As you wish,” said Leo, who was fairly new to us from Siena. He’d served one of the Nine there until the man took sick and died. Aware of his reputation of having a “sound mind,” Marcello had eagerly employed him. It took a great deal to manage the Forelli estate; and as Marcello prepared to resign his position as one of the Nine, it was even more vital that we earn every coin we could from what we had.

  I turned to my own correspondence, partly wishing I could skip the social niceties expected of me as Lady Forelli. Since it was known that I read and wrote, it was understood that I would write to each of the other eight women who were wives of the Nine every month—a task I always put off until the last minute. And it was especially hard doing it this month, knowing that I would soon not have to do this sort of thing after Marcello resigned.

  But Marcello was still one of the Nine as of this day, and a messenger was set to ride at nightfall. I needed to get the words down on paper in order to let the ink dry enough so as not to look like I’d procrastinated, like the lazy lady I was. But let’s face it. There was a part of me that would take a good high school essay assignment over such silliness. For the love…

  The only girl I looked forward to hearing from and seeing at these gigs was Lady Inirina Spovilie. She lived on the far western side of Siena, in a castello that was a stronghold for the republic—much like Castello Forelli was on the Northeast side—and seemed to be nutsy-in-love with her husband, with his too-big nose and wide grin that made it impossible to not smile when in his company. Lord Manuel, I reminded myself. I was horrible with names. But his wife, Inirina, was the only one of the other eight I cared to be pen pals with. The rest were old, nosey ladies. Well, not old-old. Most were only my mom’s age. But even still, life in Medieval Italy seemed to drastically increase the age gap between us.

  I sighed, set a sheet of parchment before me, and uncorked my ink. I’d start with Lady Spovilie. Then I could just do abbreviated copies for the rest of ’em. But after I told Inirina of what was to come through the feast—knowing her home was probably in a similar state—and telling her how I was eager to see her come Yuletide in Siena, I was done. I let a yawn go, stretching, aware that I’d drawn Leo’s eye as I corked the ink. He was Mr. Proper-Pants. He wouldn’t like the lady of the house daring to yawn without covering her mouth. What would he think if I passed gas?

  I hid a smile and rose, holding my hands in front of me until Marcello looked up.

  “Leaving so soon, m’lady?” His eyes shifted pointedly to my lone letter on the table, then back to me.

  “I think I’ll retire to our room for a bit and rest before we dress and leave for Castello Greco.”

  He nodded, and I could see the irritation in his chocolate brown eyes. It was apparently Seriously Important that I share the latest gossip with these Nine Girls. Maybe he felt it would help him with what was to come. I knew he was sweating the resignation, but sheesh, would a few sentences from me really grease the wheel all that much?

  I shoved away my thousandth wish for progressive thought and gave Marcello a small smile. “I shall return, m’lord, to finish the letters before we leave this eve. I promise.”

  I was rewarded with a small smile before he cocked a brow at Leo, waiting for the man to introduce the next item of business. As I eased through the hidden door and into our intimate room, with its ceiling covered in stars and a fire burning low in the corner, I glanced back at him. He was rubbing his forehead as if it ached, listening to Leo drone on, and I bit my lip. In some ways, I wished we could go back in time to before he was Lord Forelli. Even if we were in constant battle with Firenze, it had somehow been easier to face the big enemy before us than the hundred niggling things that now weighed on a young Tuscan lord’s heart.

  He closed his eyes and said something lowly to Leo, and then smiled, clearly having cracked a joke. Despite it all, I still knew him to be the man I loved and admired. Life had changed for us—all of us—but I was right where I was supposed to be.

  His eyes found me, still peeking at him from around the door. “M’lady? Are you in need of something?”

  “Nay, nay,” I said, offering him a tender smile. “I have all I could ever need,” I whispered, gently closing the door behind me.

  I awakened from my nap an hour later, aware that I dare not return to my lazy, warm slumber beneath the thick covers if I was to make good on my promise to my husband. I went to the buckets of water in the corner and poured one into a basin, undressed, then quickly washed my face and body. The hair would have to be washed tomorrow—I’d never get it dry in time for our trip over to Castello Greco. But I did run damp fingers through it, combing it thoroughly. Giacinta would come and do something proper with it.

  Hopefully, she was downstairs in the lady’s maid’s room, and not on one of Cook’s hundred errands. The most I could do with my hair was a ponytail or braid. I’d need Giacinta if I was to wrestle it into the elaborate braids and knots that were required of the gorget—a sheer throat cloth that was attached to the hair. It wasn’t my favorite, but it was respectable, and after shirking my pen-pal duties earlier, I knew Marcello would appreciate the effort. He’d often said he liked how it framed my face. Add to that the fact that we were going to see none other than Lord Rodolfo Greco—a guy who had once done some Serious Flirting with me—I was all about playing the role of the demure, satisfied matron. Alessandra didn’t need to feel any threat or competition from me. Only neighborly love.

  I shook out a dark green gown from a trunk, biting my lip in consternation over the wrinkles in it. But I knew from experience that they would likely ease in an hour or two. I’d just get new ones on the ride across the miles, anyway. Lia and I had lobbied for proper closets, but Mom and Dad had nixed that idea with their endless patter about changing tradition and history. To us, bringing fourteenth-century Italians knowledge about closets before their time seemed minor. And like a big plus for us. But we’d lost the battle, as we had so many others.

  Giacinta knocked quickly on the door and peeked in. “M’lady?”

  “Oh, good, come in,” I said, waving her forward. I turned toward her, the green gown half draped across me. “Is this suitable for dinner?”

  “Yes, m’lady,” she said. “It’s a fine choice.”

  I didn’t know why I had asked. There were only about three options. I had a total of ten gowns, a wealth by medieval standards. But most of them were far too snug already on my growing curves brought on by the little lord or lady in my belly.

  “I shall summon the tailor and his seamstresses after the feast,” Giacinta said, helping me into the gown and beginning to lace up the back as I stood in front of the patchy looking glass. They didn’t have any proper, clear mirrors in this time, only the splotchy looking glass made by Venetians.

  I grimaced, feeling the tug and pull. “Oh no, is this one getting too small, too?” I stared in consternation as my breasts pillowed upward from the front. Thankfully, it had an empire waist, and the ample skirt fell directly downward. But the boobage was somewhat alarming. I wanted to be the demure matron, not the neighborhood vamp, right?

  “Mayhap it’s the last time you can wear it until your baby is born,” she said, casting me a
rueful smile over my shoulder into the mirror.

  I tugged upward on the neckline, but it was useless. “Let’s try the gold instead.”

  “Ahh, it has a stain.”

  “Drat. Well, the dark purple then?”

  “A tear. Remember?”

  “But you sewed it up.”

  “Which makes it suitable for Castello Forelli, but not for a visit to Castello Greco. It might be seen as a slight,” she said gently. “The dress is fine, m’lady.”

  “Are you certain?” I turned back to my reflection.

  “I am. Wear the gown tonight and I’ll see about letting it out at the seams tomorrow.”

  “At this rate, I’ll be in sack cloth by next week if the tailor doesn’t hasten to us.”

  She smiled. “I doubt that, m’lady,” she said, smoothing out my shoulder seams and tugging down the sleeves. Even they seemed tight. It was like my entire body was swelling. Like the week before my period. Except every week was like that now. I yanked at my sleeves until they were in place, hoping they wouldn’t cut off circulation. If need be, I’d slip into the privy and take my knife to them.

  Giacinta set a stool before the mirror and combed through my hair again as I pouted at my reflection.

  “I’m a sausage stuffed in too tight a casing,” I muttered.

  “Nonsense,” she said, a tiny smile on her bow of lips. “You are radiant. Glowing.”

  “Give me another few months. I’ll have to stay in these rooms and not come out until the baby is born, or all will talk of the She-Wolf becoming a giant She-Cow.”

  “Somehow, I doubt that,” she said, winding a coil of hair backward and pinning it at the nape of my neck. “Besides, I thought you were fervently against people making assumptions of others simply because of how they appeared.”

  “Yes, yes,” I groaned, wincing as she pinned a second and then third coil. This is why her hair-dos stayed and mine did not. She did not mind inflicting pain on me. I, on the other hand, avoided it at all costs. With three more deft moves, she wound the separate coils into one knot and added a few more pins. All told, I had enough ebony pins in my hair to outfit a walrus with false teeth. You know, a black walrus with black teeth, not ivory. The Darth Vader of walruses.