Time Enough for Love (18 page)

25 December, 951, Pavia, Italy

The days before Christmas bustled with celebrations, which Gwen had studiously avoided, because Alberto, like most of the nobility, had been invited to attend the formal royal wedding. Over time, her pain had become manageable when he was far away in Canossa, but his presence in Pavia hurt, a knife to her soul.

Thankfully, most of the events were informal and she was not required to attend, thereby avoiding a chance encounter. The revelries consisted mostly of Italian folk ceremonies and old pagan rituals blended with Christian rites, but several were boisterously Saxon. One, the so-called “bride ale” was a rowdy feast of loud German singing, the tables groaning with platters of bread, meat, and beer. Men and women alike participated, their steins brimming, foaming over, the toasts to Otto and Adelaide lengthy and ribald. The queen and her ladies pretended shock, but Gwen knew from their comments afterward they’d had a grand time.

Now, however, the mood had changed, grown soft, tender, yet for Gwen unbearable because of Alberto. With a determined smile, she turned her thoughts away from him, to Adelaide.

December twenty-fifth. It was late, an evening wedding, the scene glowing with candlelight and hope, the air redolent with sweet incense, the future for the royal couple beckoning and so very bright.

In St. Peter’s Church of the Golden Ceiling, King Otto and Queen Adelaide were participating in the
velatio
, an ancient ritual where the bride and groom knelt beneath the nuptial veil and received God’s blessing. Pope Agapetus II stood over them, hands raised in prayer. All looked resplendent, Otto and Adelaide in silken robes of Imperial Purple, the Holy Father’s brocaded vestments crimson and trimmed with ermine.

Gwen kept her eyes on the king and queen, but she could feel Alberto’s presence, feel his eyes upon her.

Had his gaze gone hard and cold by now, or did it still hold the heat of anger, the venom she remembered so clearly? She knew she’d never have the strength to look at him and find out.

The ceremony neared an end and tears flowed freely, the congregation’s emotions full and expressive. Wiping her eyes, Gwen watched as the royal couple exchanged their formal vows, hearing the king’s strong voice, the queen’s shy whispering: “I Otto, take thee Adelaide…” “I Adelaide, take thee Otto…”

Pope Agapetus made the sign of the cross over them and turned to face the multitude of witnesses, now hushed into reverence, silent but for their breathing.

“Most worshipful friends, we are come here at this time in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost to join, unite, and combine these two persons by the holy sacrament of matrimony.” The Pope looked out, his gaze solemn and wise. “Which sacrament of matrimony is of this virtue and strength that these two persons who now are two bodies and two souls, during their lives together shall be one flesh and two souls.”

High Mass followed, and by the time the ceremony was over, Gwen was exhausted, but her plans were made. She separated herself from the wedding party, keeping her eyes down, as if in prayer, and no one bothered her. When the royal couple moved away from the altar, she stayed behind, preferring to let the happy guests follow the king and queen out of the church.

Feeling drained, she wondered where she would get the strength to see the day through. She didn’t want to attend the wedding feast, as she knew she must, yearning instead for the solitude and peace of her personal chambers.

As the crowds thinned, Gwen was left alone, just as she’d hoped. Breathing a sigh of relief, she stooped to pick up a fallen swag of holly. Touching her finger against the sharp points of its leaves, she started to move toward the door, glancing up now and then to be sure of her path.

Then something caught her attention – a voice half heard, yet instantly familiar – and her throat tightened as she whirled around.

“Oh!” she croaked, spotting him, tall, dark-haired, wholly unmistakable, his inscrutable eyes boring into hers from across the room.

Seeing Alberto shocked her to her core. Why was he still in the church? Memories tore at her. Pain. Was he waiting to pounce? Did he still feel the need to condemn?
No, please no
. Her chest hurt as though she’d received a blow, and she couldn’t breathe. Ready to bolt, Gwen looked at the beautiful brunette standing with him, arm in arm, smiling. Could he be married?

The woman leaned in and said something, the moment one of easy intimacy. Gwen went numb and she stumbled away, seeking to escape.

“Gwen!”

She dodged into an empty hallway, but he caught her, his grip firm on her elbow.

“Gwen, stop!”

She whirled around and dropped the holly, hardly feeling the jab at her fingertip. “No, no, go away… leave me alone,” she moaned. Keeping her eyes averted, she cringed, fearing the pain of his words. Her knees threatened to buckle, and she felt dizzy, the world spinning around her. “Please, please let me go.”

Alberto refused to release her, but carefully kept her at arm’s-length. “Gwen,” he said, his voice soft. “I only wanted to say it is good to see you. I was hoping to speak with you. Are you all right?”

Gritting her teeth, she fought to regain control of her emotions. “I, I did not realize…” She swallowed. “I would have been more careful, kept myself apart.”

“Stop, Gwen. Please, you must hear me.”

Why had he come after her? Did he want to introduce his bride? Could he really be so malicious? It hurt to have him near, and she was torn between wanting to strike out for the pain he’d caused, and running as far and as fast as she could. But something sparked deep inside, and she reminded herself this situation wasn’t her fault.

Straightening, she raised her chin. “What could you possibly say after all this time?” she asked, jerking her arm out of his hand. “Are you here to give me up to the Pope?”

“God, no, Gwen… no. Never!”

“Then leave me alone. I didn’t ask for this. Not any of this.”

“Gwendolyn, listen to me!” He grasped her arm again.

“Take your hands off me!” She wrenched her elbow free again, and this time he stood still, his gaze wounded. Despite the pain it caused, she looked into his eyes, choking back her anger, and suddenly felt uncertain. “What do you want?”

“I love you, Gwendolyn,” he said. “I am sick without you. These past months have been the darkest of my life. Seeing you today, hearing the words of His Holiness, I realized how wrong I have been, how hurtful to you, to so many people.”

Shaking her head in disbelief, she backed away. “How can you talk like that with your new bride here? What are you trying to do?”

Alberto stared at her, perplexed. “Bride?” His expression suddenly cleared. “That woman you saw is my sister, Margherita. I have no wife. I love no one but you. Gwendolyn, my Gwendolyn, I came to see you to apologize, to ask if you could ever forgive me… ever take me back.”

Not his wife, only his sister – take him back!
Her racing heart, the rush of blood in her ears made it hard for her to hear, to be sure of his words. “But,” she mumbled, barely able to speak, “but I haven’t changed. I wasn’t lying. Everything I said was true. I can’t change it.”

“No more than you can change the color of your eyes, your beautiful eyes.” His voice caught for a moment and his hand hovered near her wrist, this time not attempting to touch, to assume. “No more than I could bring back my dead son, or… or Gilda’s mother. I understand now. To have done what I did, to have mistreated you… I’m so sorry. It was wrong, so cruel. Could you find it in your heart to forgive me? You once said you loved me. Can you ever love me again? Please tell me there is some hope.”

“But… what changed your mind?”

“In my heart I knew you would not lie to me,” he whispered, his voice strained. “But it was the timepiece that eventually forced me to see things more clearly and accept your truth. After you left, I examined it closely. God help me, Gwen, I realized you had to be speaking the truth. No one of this era – not even a Saracen wizard – could make such a thing. But my pride, my damnable pride, and fear, prevented me from doing anything but returning it to you and running away like a coward.”

She felt a lump rise in her throat. Was she dreaming again? Unbelievably, tears welled in Alberto’s eyes. She had never imagined that in a dream.

Deep hurt. Broken trust. Both argued to reject him, to cause him as much injury as he’d caused her. Gwen hesitated, didn’t respond, as she listened to her conscience.

When she looked at him again, his shoulders were rounded, his eyes filled with pain, tears falling unnoticed.

He sighed raggedly and bowed. “My apologies for disturbing you, my lady. I won’t trouble you further.”

No! Gwen, you fool!

Alberto turned to leave, but the shock of seeing his distress sparked her to action and she reached out, touching his cheek with a trembling finger and wiping a stray tear. Quietly, she spoke from her heart. “I would have to stop my life, to stop loving you.”

Hope returned to his gaze, and he stepped toward her, still hesitant, then kissed her hand. They gazed at one another, admitting hurt with their eyes and letting it fall away.

Quashing her inner voice, letting her instincts guide her, Gwen rose on tiptoe and brushed her lips against his.

“Gwendolyn, my Gwendolyn,” he whispered, his voice strangled with emotion. He returned her kiss, gently, reverently, then more deeply.

With an aching intensity, Gwen realized how desperately she’d missed this man who’d become a part of her, his voice, his embrace, everything about him. There were no words to express the depth of her wonder and relief.

The grief that had enveloped her for months suddenly vanished and she laughed, tears of joy coursing down her cheeks. Gwen felt like she was floating. “Alberto, I love you.”

“My lady love, I so hoped to hear those words and long to make amends. Mayhap we can steal away and find a quiet place. It is cold outside, but peaceful, and we could be alone. I would not share this evening with any but you.”

“Yes, I’ll get my cloak. They won’t miss us.”

A hand rested on her shoulder, and she instantly disengaged from Alberto’s arms. Adelaide and Otto stood there, grinning, and the king said, “Ah, but we would miss you.”

Alberto snapped to attention. “Sire!” he blurted out.

“I see you have finally found each other this day,” Adelaide said smoothly, her expression one of delight.

“I… I thought you were at the banquet,” Gwen said.

The queen smiled. “And so we were. But Father Warinus saw something in the church he thought I would like to witness for myself.”

Blushing, deeply embarrassed, yet still wanting only to get away with Alberto, Gwen gripped his hand and tried to gather her composure. “We are coming to the banquet directly, Queen Adelaide. I am sorry if––”

“We have no need of you there, Gwendolyn. But my Otto may have an even better idea than the one floating about in your lovely head.” Adelaide’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “Father Warinus has agreed to support him in this. Of course, it is up to the two of you.”

Gwen and Alberto looked to King Otto.

“On this occasion your timing was less good, Lord Alberto,” Otto began gruffly, frowning. “Had you come to your senses earlier in the day, we might have made a double ceremony of it. As it is, we suggest you go now, with Father Warinus,” he nodded toward the doors where the priest stood, smiling, “and take your much-delayed vows. Be mindful, if you hesitate I will have to make it a royal command.”

Gwen stood open-mouthed and looked at Alberto. He turned to her, his eyebrows lifted in question, his own opinion clearly conveyed by his smile.

“And let this seal the union.” Otto twisted a ring off his little finger. A band of gold, set with a cabochon ruby, sparkled in his palm. “Will this do?”

“Perfect!” Adelaide’s eyes welled up and she motioned for the ring, clasping it to her breast. “Dearest Gwen, this ring shall be our gift. It shall signify your love of Lord Alberto, and once blessed, it will protect you from attack by demons.”

Gwen laughed as Alberto took her hands in his. “King Otto, Queen Adelaide,” he said, “I am very willing to obey your command, if the lady is.” He got down on one knee. “What say you, Gwendolyn Godwyn? Will you grant me the honor of becoming your husband?”

She gazed into his beautiful eyes. The moment, the man, and the love she felt, overwhelmed her.

“Yes,” she said, softly. “Oh, yes, I would love to marry you.”

*

Gwen nervously waited at the altar with Adelaide. After a few breathless minutes, Alberto arrived with his sister, who looked confused but happy.

“Gwen, my sister, Margherita,” he said. “Margherita, Gwendolyn, my wife – soon!”

Clearing his throat, Otto took Gwen’s trembling right hand. “May I act as guardian?”

“I would be honored,” she said.

“Thank you.” He turned to Father Warinus. “I, King Otto of Germany, acting as guardian, hereby give the
sponsa
, Gwendolyn Godwyn, to Alberto Uzzo, lord of Canossa.” The king placed Gwen’s hand in Alberto’s. “The joining of these hands concludes the transfer of the gift of this woman to this man.”