Torrent (20 page)

Before us stood several men in long robes and hoods, as if part of a secret society. I realized then that Lord Barbato and Lord Vivaro wore identical robes and hoods. The two lords strode forward on either side of us. For what reason? To hide themselves? Because they weren’t totally proud of what was about to come down—forcing me to marry Lord Greco?

Well, they can’t. Can’t force me. I’ll wait them out. They won’t kill me. They wouldn’t dare.

I paused, the truth of it sinking in.
Yes, they would. I’ve put them through enough. Embarrassed them enough.
Here, in this towering church that felt like a yawning chasm with only our small group within, I felt the truth of it echo through my mind, my heart. It was to end here, once and for all. They’d have me as bride, or they’d have my head. And either way, Firenze came out as conqueror.

I bit my lip. There had to be a way to stop it. Had to be a way.

I looked to the priest when we reached him, over to the men presiding—many of them hidden beneath the shadows of their long hoods—and back again. The priest was some kind of bigwig. A cardinal, maybe? Or a bishop? I wasn’t really sure. But I racked my brain for the right title. I had to speak to him, beg him for mercy, protection. He looked a little Spanish, with olive skin and a red, wide-brimmed, tasseled hat and robe. He looked back at me as if I’d interrupted his hot game of cribbage or something. Like this was the last thing he wanted to do today.

Okay, so I’m not gonna get any help from the holy man.
But I had to try anyway. “Your Eminence,” I said, gambling on a title that would convey lots of honor and respect.

He peered at me in surprise, as if he did not expect me to speak at all. The men around me got all jumpy.

“These men force me to these vows,” I said, shaking my head and pulling away from Rodolfo. “I do not wish to do this. I stand against it.”

“
Gabriella,
” Rodolfo said, taking new hold of my arm and yanking me closer again.

Captain Ruisi slipped behind me, and I felt a cold blade beneath my throat. “She is done speaking. Carry on, Your Eminence.”

“Yes, be on with it,” Lord Barbato demanded.

The small cardinal dude stared at me for a moment from behind the bouncing tassels on the brim of his red hat. Then Rodolfo shifted his grip on my right arm again, even as Ruisi’s arm wrapped around me from behind, holding the blade at my throat. The priest turned tiredly toward the altar, made the sign of the cross and began to chant in Latin.

It was done. Over.

I was getting hitched.

Whether I wanted to or not.

Chapter Eighteen

This can’t be happening.

The cardinal turned to me and shook a silver baton-thingy at me and then Rodolfo, chanting words from a gigantic, open, hand-
lettered
liturgy book. Behind him an altar boy swung a censer, streaming sweet-smelling incense left and then right. Having trouble dealing, I zoned out, ignoring the words, watching as the puffs of gray smoke rose and danced in the fading light, up past the gold-laden Christ figure on a cross behind the altar. I stared at Him, remembering the first crucifix I’d seen when I first came to ancient Toscana. The tiny one at Castello Forelli in my room.

I’d prayed to God then, asking if He would tell me why I was here. What I was to do.

And the only answer I’d gotten, ever since, was to be with Marcello.

To love Marcello Forelli. Be with him. Forever.

I’d even been given my dearest desire—my family, here with me, making it possible. How could I be giving in? Now? After all we’d been through? The way had been made! I only had to escape this trap.…

I straightened and lifted my chin. Captain Ruisi shifted behind me, and I felt the edge of his blade at my throat. But I didn’t think he wanted to use it. Not really.

Rodolfo dared to glance in my direction, obviously feeling me tense.

The cardinal continued his litany, and with each Latin word, I knew that it was here that I would take my stand. For life. For love. The cardinal turned the page, read another sentence, and then looked to Rodolfo. He had apparently just asked if he was vowing to have and to hold and all that stuff. My Latin was pretty sketchy. But I tensed.

Rodolfo looked down at me and stared into my eyes.

I silently begged him not to do it. Not to utter words I couldn’t echo.

“Lord Greco,” growled Barbato.

But Rodolfo’s sad, brown eyes were on me, his hand now holding mine, caressing it. “I cannot,” he said at last.

Then he glanced behind me, at Ruisi. “Release her. At once.”

Captain Ruisi hesitated and then did as he said, taking a step backward.

“M-m’lord?” the cardinal sputtered.

But Rodolfo’s eyes never left mine. He lifted my hand to his lips. “I cannot,” he said again, looking toward the cardinal as if the matter was done. But he still held my hand.

Barbato and Vivaro were in a full-on tizzy. “What is this?” Lord Barbato blustered, coming near. “You most certainly shall! You gave me your word!”

“But she will not give me hers,” he said sadly, glancing at me one more time. “Out of respect for her valor and courage—this woman has fought for Toscana and nearly given her life, time and time again, for it. That alone should give her the right to marry whom she wishes.” He paused, and his voice went lower, more emotional, even as he smiled. “And it’s clear to me that her heart beats for one man alone. And sadly that is not me.”

“Nay,” said a voice behind us and to our left. “I pray ’tis for me.”

It was a voice I knew well.

Marcello
.

My eyes widened, and I turned full around, even as Captain Ruisi drew his sword. It was almost as if I didn’t care. I tried to edge past him, to better see in the dim light, but Rodolfo drew me back.

Marcello was striding toward us, pulling his hood off, drawing a sword from beneath his cape.

Rodolfo and Lord Barbato reached for theirs, too, but then Lia, Luca, Mom, and Dad pulled their hoods back, all displaying weapons. “I would not do that,” Luca said, easily striking away Barbato’s impotent sword. “You don’t want to see the Betarrinis angry. It is most unpleasant.”

Lia moved forward, arrow drawn, to cover the noblemen Lord Vivaro had invited to the ceremony—or at least, those who’d managed to arrive. Marcello, Luca, and my family had obviously removed a few of them and borrowed their hooded capes.

I pushed Captain Ruisi’s dagger away and fell into Marcello’s arms. “You’re here. You’re here,” I said. I couldn’t manage much more through my tears, as I inhaled his scent of wood smoke and leather and spice. How had I forgotten the power of his embrace, the total
rightness
of it? I shoved away the guilt of being held by Rodolfo.

He pressed my lips to his for a quick kiss, his hand holding the back of my head. “You and your infernal need to rush toward your bridal day,” he teased. “I keep telling you
I
wish to marry you. Let us see it done in Siena. Properly. In a gown that is
clean
.”

“Let us make our escape and speak of marriage later, shall we?” Dad asked from a few feet away.

I moved over to him, where he was waving a sword at several men now on their knees. He embraced me with one arm, and Mom wrapped a free arm around me too. “You guys shouldn’t have come,” I said. Not meaning it at all, of course, but seriously scared now, for all of us.

“You are fools,” Lord Barbato bit out. “You shall never escape this basilica. Every entrance is covered by Lord Vivaro’s men.”

I glanced at Lord Vivaro, who looked most pleased with this latest development—he’d have quite a story to tell at parties—but he was careful to nod fiercely after Barbato’s comment. “You might have entered in disguise, but you shall not escape. Every entrance is covered,” he said gravely. “Please, allow Lord Greco to complete his nuptials with Lady Gabriella, and we shall all retire to my palazzo as friends.” He threw his hands wide and smiled.

Lia let out a low growl and moved her arrow to the base of his fat throat. “What do you think, Gabi? Would you like to see these nuptials through?”

“Not this day,” I said.

“How about on the morrow?” Marcello asked, smiling and lifting my hand to his lips. “If I am your groom?”

“Hold that eHarmony thought,” Lia whispered in English. “We gotta get out of here.” She turned her attention to Marcello. “If their men outside gain word that all is not well in here, it shall be a bloodbath, church or not.” I stared at her for a sec. My lil’ sis was growing up. Seriously. Suddenly she was every inch the medieval warrioress. I wished I felt some of the strength she was oozing. With the appearance of my family, I was suddenly tired, so tired. Wanting to let my guard down and crumbling.

“Surrender,” Barbato demanded with a small smile. “Or die trying to depart.”

“You are hardly in the position to demand anything,” Marcello said in a harsh tone. He leaned closer. “By the way, I have my castle back. Your displaced troops are with Paratore. And now I have my lady.”

Barbato stared back at him, hatred in his eyes. “It shall never stand.”

“Tie them up against the columns,” Marcello said to my family, before returning his attention to Barbato. “It shall stand. As far as Siena is concerned, my brother paid a far greater price than was warranted, a blood price for Castello Forelli.”

“And so keep your castle,” Barbato said dismissively, as Dad dragged him backward toward a massive granite column. “You shall not retake your lady. She belongs to us now. I will see her wed to a nobleman of Firenze—either Lord Greco or another—” he said, casting a venomous look in Rodolfo’s direction, “—or I shall see her dead.”

“If any further harm comes to Lady Gabriella, I shall see
you
dead, m’lord,” Marcello said, shaking his finger at Barbato. The veins in his neck bulged.

“You wouldn’t dare,” Barbato said, lifting his chin in defiance.

Marcello lifted his sword, his face a mass of fury. But I grabbed his arm and stepped between them. “Nay, love. He’s not worth it. Kill him, and there will simply be another Fiorentini ready to take his place.”

Marcello sighed. “Although it’d be most satisfying.”

I gave him a little smile. “Agreed.”

Luca returned, and his eyes moved between Marcello, Barbato, and me as if he was thinking,
What’d I miss?
“All exits are guarded.”

We paused, as a group, trying to think it through.

“There is another way,” said a voice from behind the curve of a massive, green granite column. He moved forward, lurching in his gait, and I saw that it was Father Tomas, pain etched in his broad, white face.

“Tomas!” I cried, rushing toward him. I came under his arm, giving him some support.

“This way,” he said, pointing to the altar.

I frowned at him in confusion but walked with him. Marcello came over to us. “Allow me, Gabriella.” He nodded to Tomas. “He is your friend?”

“He is,” I said, but I was eyeing Rodolfo as we passed him. Did he want out? Wish to come with us, leave Firenze behind? What would he endure there, when he returned, having betrayed Lord Barbato?

“’Twas but an idle dream, m’lady, you and I,” he said with a gentle smile, but his eyes bore a measure of pain. “’Tis your truest path, to be with Lord Marcello.” His brown gaze shifted to his old friend. “By your life?”

“By my life,” Marcello returned, fist to his chest. “Gabriella shall reach safety.” He paused. “Come with us, Rodolfo. I’d see you well rewarded in Siena.”

“Go with him, traitor,” Barbato called out from ten feet away. “I shall see you hanged!”

Rodolfo looked over at him with tired eyes and then back to Marcello. “I cannot. Firenze holds my heart, as it has all along. The only treasonous act I’ve committed is refusing to claim a woman’s heart.” His eyes flicked to me, then back to Marcello. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “I do not believe my brothers in Firenze shall hold that against me. Not for long, anyway.”

“My debt to you has doubled,” Marcello said, clasping his arm.

“There are no debts between brothers,” Rodolfo said.

The two men shared a long look, then we turned and Marcello helped Father Tomas to a staircase, directly behind the altar, then down the steep steps. We weren’t far behind—me, Mom and Dad, Lia and Luca. The last thing I saw of Rodolfo was a glimpse of the broad expanse of his back as he strode down the center of St. John’s, Lords Barbato and Vivaro yelling after him, while Captain Ruisi, the cardinal, and five other men struggled to get free.

I hoped Rodolfo would find love someday. I hoped he’d be safe.

The temperature dived with each step we took down into an ancient grotto. We gaped for a moment at the ancient face of rock—the two crypts, ornately carved of purple granite, and a line of limestone crypts. The graves of popes? Kings? Saints? But then Luca was tearing down the stairs behind us. “Our escape has been discovered. We must be off.”

Marcello turned toward Father Tomas. “Where?”

“That way,” said the priest, panting, looking a ghastly shade of gray.

We all looked toward a door with a big lock on it. Another tunnel.

“Where does it lead?” Marcello asked.

“Does it matter? ’Tis the only way!”

“You do not know,” Marcello said.

Father Tomas shrugged. “I had only heard of it from another who once served here. The clerics who serve here like to have a way out, should they be threatened.”

“Sounds like an escape route to me,” Luca said, glancing upward. We could hear the shouts of men.

Lia moved to the staircase, our shield, and drew an arrow. “I can give you a few minutes’ lead.”

“I’ll stay with her,” Dad said, giving Luca no opportunity. Luca turned, a knowing smile on his face. If Dad was protective over me, he was twice as protective over my little sis. Dad pulled out his sword, standing behind her.

Luca took Tomas’s arm over his shoulder to help him walk. “Do not fret, Father. This group has good experience hauling ill men through long, dark tunnels.”

I laughed under my breath. It was good, so good to be with all of them again. Together, I felt like we could do anything—face any enemy, make any escape.

I heard the
thrum
of Lia’s bowstring. A man cried out behind us, then rolled halfway down the steps, dead.

“Go!” Lia cried.

Marcello struck the iron lock, again and again, with the hilt of his sword, until it finally broke loose. He swung open the heavy door and then glanced back.

“Here,” Mom said, handing him a lit candle. She must’ve grabbed it from the altar upstairs.
Always thinking, my mom, planning ahead…

Marcello took it gratefully, lit a torch at the end of the tunnel, broke off the candle and handed it back to Mom to light hers, as he tossed aside the gold candlestick. “Let it be said that the only thing we took from a church was a bride and some beeswax.” With a wink he took my hand in his, and we ran down the tunnel, with Luca hauling Tomas behind us, followed by Mom, then, finally, Dad and Lia. About fifty meters in, we came to another door.

“See if you can bar it once we’re on the other side!” Marcello called, rushing headlong down the tunnel. We knew that if Lia had given up her post, knights were surely already making their way in after us. A good archer might be able to pick off those of us at the back, even in the dark. The shaft was that straight.

We rushed through the doorway. I took half a breath when we heard the clang of it shut behind Lia and Dad.