Time Enough for Love (13 page)

For the briefest moment, there was utter silence, then Berengar mumbled in halting, angry words, “Sire, please accept my… sincere… apologies. I and all that I command stand ready at your orders.”

Alberto’s lips twitched slightly at the corners, and he glanced up to catch Otto’s reaction. He was surprised yet delighted to see Otto press his boot against Berengar’s neck.

“You bastard.” The king glowered. “Queen Adelaide will pass judgment upon you. Until then, be forewarned, if you ever do less than honor and serve her with your every breath,” he pressed further, “for the rest of your days, be sure I will consider it a personal affront, and I shall hound you, and see you delivered into the chasms of hell, whence you sprang.”

Otto released Berengar, who started coughing violently. The king calmly turned to Alberto. “I do not speak Latin. What did your words mean?”

Alberto smiled. “‘They are bound, and have fallen; but we are risen, and are set upright.’ It comes from Scripture.”

“Ah.” Otto clapped Alberto on the back. “Good, then! Formalities have been dispatched, friend. Let us see to our men and the clearing of the field of battle.”

*

The break of dawn. Screams rising on the wind, the battle raging. The horizon tinged blood red.

Shivering, Gwen stood on Canossa’s walls with Adelaide, watching the fight. The field was a long way off and partially shrouded by mist, and she wished she had a pair of binoculars. Where was Alberto? Where?

After Berengar had surrounded Canossa, all nonessential persons – the old, the sick, women, and children – had been moved up to the keep for safety. Alberto sent a note, explaining he was so busy preparing for the siege, he wouldn’t have the opportunity to see her any time soon. Then, at dawn, they’d all heard the call, and stood by helplessly as the men poured out of the gates and into the battle.

So now, Gwen stood at the wall, gazing down at a teeming, surging mass of thousands, feeling sick and helpless, wishing she was with him, smack-dab in the midst of it. At least then, she’d know his fate.

“Look!” Adelaide cried out, pointing. “What is happening over there? Look at that group. I see no movement. Is someone capitulating?”

Gwen strained to see through the haze, struggled to understand exactly what was going on, and who was involved.

The fog thinned, and she saw what seemed to be three or four figures within the ring of horses and men. Mist wafted in again, blocking Gwen’s view. An image of Alberto kneeling in defeat seized her mind, making her tremble. What would Berengar do to him? Behead him?

Shaking with anger and fear, Gwen gripped her knife. “If Berengar rides into Canossa triumphant, I swear I will kill that bastard myself.” She was barely aware of Adelaide’s tight grasp on her arm.

“Otto stands there!” the queen cried out. “See his hair, his golden hair? And Berengar is on the ground. He is defeated!” Jumping with delight, Adelaide threw her arms around Gwen’s neck. “Otto – at last – will be here soon.”

Gwen looked hard, hoping the queen was right, yet still fearful. If anything, the haze seemed worse than before, and it dawned on her Adelaide was seeing more with her heart than with her eyes.

“Gwendolyn,” Adelaide said, letting her go. “I am so happy. Now I must tell you something Alberto said to me.”

Gwen stiffened.

Adelaide smiled. “Lord Alberto told me this in confidence. He said he prayed Otto would arrive within the fortnight, and the king would help him make swift work of Berengar. Now that it has happened – praise God – I believe I am free to tell you what else your man confided to me.”

Gwen held her breath.

Shiny-eyed, beaming with joy, Adelaide went on, “Tomorrow we will host a feast of celebration, for Berengar has been defeated at last. And Alberto said, should victory be ours and peace be at hand, that before the feast…” She stopped and gave Gwen a startled look. “Oh, uh, never mind, but he vowed to me that he loves you deeply, and, and,” she stammered, “he loves you more than any in the world!”

Suddenly, a great cheer went up from the melee below, and the women turned to see why.

The wind came up, clearing the air. Swords were being waved, the sun glinting off their shafts, and banners snapped in the breeze, their vivid colors those of Germany and Canossa.

Adelaide was right. Victory was theirs!

Relieved and elated, the women embraced. But even as they celebrated, a part of Gwen worried.
Tomorrow. He’ll ask me to marry him again. Tomorrow.

Otto sat atop his charger, gazing at the closed gates and white walls of Canossa, brilliant in the morning sun.

Adelaide.

He smiled. She was there, he knew, somewhere within those walls. As badly as he’d wanted to rush to her side as soon as the battle had been won, he’d forced himself to see to the business at hand: sending Berengar and the other prisoners away north for future sentencing, then following decorum by passing the night encamped outdoors with his men, waiting until he was officially invited within the gates of Canossa.

At their meeting in the alpine pass, Liutprand intimated Otto’s presence was desired by Adelaide for more than political purposes, breaking from the rigors of formal etiquette to suggest she harbored feelings for him. To dare speak so openly without his queen’s consent could have cost Liutprand his life, and he’d been in her service long enough to know better. Adelaide certainly had given him leave to do so.

And then, there was the message delivered by the priest.

She loves me. I know it.
Otto’s heart raced as he recalled the blue of her eyes.

A horn sounded from over the battlements, the gates opened, and Otto leaned forward in anticipation.

Working as ambassador between the two camps, Liutprand rode out of the castle gates dressed in formal regalia, crusted in gems and gold. “Sire,” he called out with great pomp, “our Most Gracious Queen, Adelaide of Italy, and Alberto Uzzo, lord of Canossa, send their greetings and bid you and your men welcome and congratulations on your hard won victory over our mutual enemy, Berengar, margrave of Ivrea. Further, they ask that you honor them with your presence at the church of St. Nicholas, as soon as you may.”

“The honor is mine,” Otto replied. “Please, lead the way.”

As he and his horsemen approached the gates, citizens poured out to welcome their rescuers. Applause, cheers, ribbons, and flowers filled the air as they rode into Canossa. The streets within were lined with people, some in tears, all smiling, laughing.

Ahead of him, a second set of walls rose up. He passed beneath the gates, then saw the church where Father Warinus waited. Lord Alberto stood a few paces away, a tall, beautiful woman at his side.

But where was Adelaide? Otto dismounted and strode up the steps, the cheers around him growing. He turned and grinned to the people, accepting their welcome, then took the last few steps two at a time and clasped hands with Alberto Uzzo.

“Welcome, King Otto,” Alberto said, smiling. “Welcome! This is the lady Gwendolyn Godwyn. You know Father Warinus, of course. Please, come. Your presence is greatly anticipated within.”

Otto walked inside with Alberto. His eyes adjusted slowly as he searched the church, desperate. Where was she?

Dignitaries and officials, their names blurring to insignificance, greeted him, slowing his advance until at last the throng gave way and grew silent.

He sucked in his breath. Standing at the foot of the altar, bathed in light pouring through stained glass, was Adelaide. His Adelaide.

She was dressed in a crimson gown, her head covered with a veil of golden silk. This sight of her was so unlike the first time he’d seen her, for she had been a shy maiden then, with unbound hair. Yet now, as she looked at him directly, smiling, her gaze unwavering, his heart leapt. She was an exquisite woman, a beauty!

How many times had he wished for, imagined this reunion? It was all he could do not to rush to her and take her in his arms. Her looks were striking, even greater than before, if that were possible, but the glow emanating from her, the soft light in her eyes, was just as he remembered, as though he had last seen them only yesterday.

He slowly exhaled and moved forward, grasping his calm like an object, forcing composure. His gaze locked on hers, so close at last.

“My lord, King Otto of Germany,” Adelaide said. “Welcome back.”

Words stuck in his throat as Otto drew out his sword, knelt before her, and offered her the hilt. “My Lady Queen,” he finally managed.

He felt the touch of her hand on his, soft, warm, trembling, urging him to stand. When he did, their eyes locked again, and neither spoke with words, until someone coughed discreetly, and Adelaide’s gaze flickered toward the sound.

She cleared her throat and resumed her welcome. “I and the people of the kingdom of Northern Italy thank you for coming to our aid and succor, for brandishing this blade on our behalf. We are forever indebted…”

When his gaze dropped to her lips, her voice faltered, and he had to fight his desire to kiss her then and there.

“We would ask only that you stay longer this time, than you did the last.” She lowered her gaze and whispered, “You promised me a dance once long ago, but did not stay to see it through.”

“And I have regretted that decision with every breath I’ve drawn since,” Otto replied earnestly.

This time, it was Adelaide’s gaze that fixed on his lips. She closed her eyes and her body swayed. Otto reached out to steady her, his hand on her elbow, burning at the touch of her.

“As have I,” she said, smiling. “Mayhap we shall mend that mischance this evening, for a celebratory banquet is in preparation, and you are our very special guest of honor.”

Otto returned her smile and spoke as quietly as he could. “This time, I shall save every dance for you,
ma petite.
Every one.”

Her gaze flicked again to his lips. In a voice barely audible, even to him, she said, “And mayhap that kiss, so long denied. I yearn for your embrace.”

*

Gwen stood in the bedchamber she shared with Adelaide, her heart beating wildly. She knew what was coming, knew by Alberto’s earlier expression, by the message he had entrusted to the queen. He was going to propose to her again, without the rush and blinding passion of the first attempt. She saw him once more, on his knees in the glen, asking for her hand, not understanding why she held back.

All of Gwen’s earlier excuses were now unusable. She had only the millstone of her previous life, her birth century, hanging around her neck. She would not marry under a cloud, the web of lies she’d concocted about her past, or be dishonest with Alberto anymore. He might never trust her again, but she needed to come clean for her own sake, for her sense of honor. It was the only way she could ever fully honor him.

Gwen gulped back her fear. This was a huge step, but she had to share her truth with the man she loved. It would change his whole world. Would he accept it as fact based solely on her word?
Alberto, can you do that? Can you believe what I’m going to tell you? You have to, you have to.

She took a deep breath, then approached Adelaide, who looked up from her dressing table. A serving woman was busy with final touches to the shimmering, silver dress and matching veil the queen would wear to the evening’s banquet.

“You look radiant,” Gwen said, caught in the moment.

“You are beautiful, too, Gwendolyn,” the queen said encouragingly. “How that gown of blue brings out the color of your eyes. But, dearest friend, you are showing nerves, for I can see the tremor in your hands. You and his lordship love each other. Say yes. The moment will be one you will cherish forever.”

Gwen could only nod as a knock sounded on the door. She knew it was her escort.

In moments, she was shown entry into Alberto’s formal offices. He stood by a large table of polished wood, looking out the window, his hands clasped behind his back. She noticed a pair of elaborate silver goblets on the table. For a celebratory toast? When the door closed, he turned and attempted a smile, but Gwen could tell from his gaze he was as nervous as she.

He came forward, taking her hands. “You are always so beautiful, Gwendolyn, I truly know not whom I prefer – the bewitching she-monk, or the queen’s lady.”

Gwen attempted to smile, the seconds ticking down as he forged on. “I asked you to come here this eve, before the banquet, for I,” he touched her cheek, “I wish to have you here, in my home, with my daughter, filling this barren castle with light and laughter and love, and mayhap more children one day.”

At his words, a delicious heat coursed through her body, but not the heat of lust. This was different, deeper… love. What had she expected him to say? Nothing so wonderful and caring. But would he be so caring once she revealed her truth?

With a gentle squeeze of his hands, he continued, “I realize your home is far away in Britannia, and you must have family praying for your safe return. I will send word to them, or bring them to live here if you wish.” Alberto drew her closer. “I asked you before, you’ll recall, and you were correct to rebuff me. The timing was ill considered. Now, as promised, I would ask you again.” He sank to one knee, still holding her hands. “I love you. For my daughter, for my home, but mostly for the wholeness of my heart, for my very life, my Gwendolyn, please accept my proposal of marriage.”

She gently pulled on his hands, coaxing him up.
He looks so optimistic
, she thought anxiously.
He has no idea.

“Alberto, I love you more than I ever thought it possible to love.” She tried again to smile, but her facial muscles only twitched with the effort. She stopped trying when Alberto’s brows knit together. “I will consent,” she went on, seeing his smile return, “but first I must tell you something about myself, the thing which worried me so before, and, and Britannia has nothing to do with it, I’m afraid. Afterward, if you wish to withdraw your offer, I will be heartbroken, but––”

“Gwendolyn, I would never!”

“Don’t.” Gwen stopped his protest with a raised hand. “Please, let me speak. I – I have something I must show you.” She pulled back the sleeve of her gown, revealing two watches, Stefano’s and her own. Alberto moved to take a closer look, but Gwen stepped aside. “Please, let me explain.”

“I don’t understand,” he said. “What is that image on the smaller wristlet?”

“It’s a mouse.”

He looked at her quizzically. “A mouse?”

“I know this seems weird. These are not wristlets – they are called
watches
, timepieces that help us keep track of the hours and minutes in each day – precisely.”

His eyes suddenly held a spark, a mounting interest.

“Alberto, you have sundials. Where I come from––”

“You bear the image of a rodent on your timepiece. Does that signify something?”

“It’s a drawing from a
cartoon,
a harmless childhood fable. He’s on a boat, er, at the wheel of a boat powered by steam.” She studied Alberto’s look of confusion.
You’re blowing this, Gwen!
She was going off subject, and he wasn’t getting it, wasn’t seeing the significance. “My father gave this to me as a gift.”

“He prizes a rat at the helm of a ship?” Alberto asked. “In Italy we prefer to keep them at a distance, inevitable though they are.” Then his mouth fell open. “Did you say
steam power
?”

Gwen took a long, shaky breath and plunged in. “Yes, steam. I come from a place that would seem very strange to you, Alberto. Please, listen to everything I have to say, right to the end, please.”

His brow furrowed, but he folded his arms and leaned against the edge of the table. “I’m listening.”

“I arrived not far from where you first found me, unwillingly and unexpectedly, from… a different time, a different century. I arrived from the future, over a thousand years from now.”

Gwen stopped to let her words sink in, but sincere as she’d tried to sound, it seemed to have little effect on him – except for his expression, which was now stony, unreadable.

“I was visiting a small town, Santa Lucia, and there was a terrible earthquake,” Gwen persisted. She explained, reliving the confusion of that day – regaining consciousness in the church garden with Stefano nowhere to be found, the building showing no signs of earthquake damage, and being forced to wear a cowl to cover her modern clothing – but Alberto only watched her, saying nothing.

When Gwen finally got to the point when Alberto had rescued her, she stopped, drew a long breath, then waited for him to say something, anything.

“Santa Lucia?” he asked, his voice deadly calm. “I do not know of such a place, although the village of Emilia is not far from the spot where we first encountered you and those brigands, but, I may assure you, there has been no earthquake within the borders of my land in long memory.”

“It will occur, though, because it happens in the future.”

His gaze dropped to his boots and he stared without moving for a long moment. Then, slowly, he looked up. “I cannot understand why you would invent such stories. Why are you avoiding an answer to my proposal? If you do not love me, do not want anything I offer you,” his voice rose gradually, his eyes steely, “including the unbounded love my daughter bears for you, you need only refuse me as you did the first time! Why do you make a mockery of this? Of me? Jesus God, do you think me so witless as to accept such tales? What is your aim?”

Frightened by his angry misinterpretation, Gwen reiterated, “Alberto, I am not refusing you, and I am
not
lying. I would never hurt you, or Gilda, for anything in the world, but I cannot marry you without telling you the whole truth, the entire truth,” she raised her right hand, “so help me God.”