Waterfall (35 page)

It was Lia who had sewn me up. That was enough of a shock that I almost melted back into my week of unconsciousness.

My sister, weak-kneed, slightly green at the sight of manure or moldy cheese in the fridge, had found it in herself to disinfect my wound with alcohol-thank God I had been unconscious-thread an ivory needle with sinew, and sew up my side like I was an elementary school project.

I turned and stared at my six-inch wound again, gaping at the perfect, even curves of sinew like whipstitches in a thermal blanket.

But then I looked up at her and groaned. “They’ll have to come out.”

“Yes,” she said.

I closed my eyes and winced, thinking of the pain to come. But not yet. The trick was we had to let the flesh weave itself together again without letting the sinew become embedded within it. It might lead to infection, which miraculously, I seemed to have been spared.

That didn’t mean it couldn’t still get infected.

Modern-day thoughts of flesh-eating disease, MRSA, sepsis, staph, cascaded through my mind. My dad always said I was a bit of a hypochondriac, always reading up on possible ailments and feeling certain I had them. I tried to think back to what I’d read.

I could feel the whisper of air as Lia fell to her knees beside me, her skirts billowing. “Gabi, what are we going to do? They’re calling us `princess warriors.’ That’s all I hear. They think we’re All That and more. Seriously. And that Luca dude is following me around everywhere I go.” She rolled her eyes.

“Well, you saved all our lives with your arrows,” I said. “I’d bet you money he’s never seen a woman do that before.”

She shook her head. “How are we going to get out of this?”

I closed my eyes, heaved a sigh, and then peeked at her. “I have no idea.” In so many ways… “Lia, how is Fortino? Marcello’s brother?”

“Oh, amazing,” she said. “Apparently, that’s just another reason to throw you a big party. They’re all excited because he’s back from the dead or something.”

I smiled and closed my eyes. I was so afraid that I’d wake up to find Fortino gone, even buried.

Lia rose and gestured in the direction of the courtyard. “Gabi, everyone’s going crazy out there. Now that you’re back from the brink, there’s no way they’re going to be able to hold it off any longer.”

My smile faded. “What do you mean?”

“It sounds like all of Siena is coming in for the celebration. Something about a three-day feast to celebrate our victory. And we’re the guests of honor.”

Victory. Castello Paratore defeated. For Siena, it would be huge.

It all seemed like a movie I’d seen. I reached out and grabbed Lia’s hand. She was so tenderhearted. She had cried when she shot her first bird with a bow and arrow. I knew killing those men must’ve been excruciating for her. “Lia, do you want to talk about it? I mean, the battle. All those guys-“

“No.” She pulled her hand from mine. “No, I don’t. I want to get out of here, Gabi, and forget this all happened. It’s like a nightmare.” She shook her head. “We have to get back to the tomb. Try it together. I mean, to make the jump back.”

I nodded, but my mind was already pulling me in two directions.

“You’ll do it, then?” she said, relief flooding her face. And in that moment, I remembered how badly I wanted to return to our own time, how I longed for Mom and Lia just a week ago. But now…

Maybe it was having Lia here, with me. Maybe I was being selfish. But having her here settled me, made me feel less homesick, less vulnerable.

It wasn’t just me.

It was us.

And that freed me to think more broadly about Marcello.

It was as if some bonds had been broken. Over and over, I had resisted Marcello because of Lia, because of my mom, because I needed to get back. And because he was promised to another. Another who could help him, help his family, help Siena. But now that Lia was here…

“Maybe I can get you to the tomb on my own somehow,” Lia said, looking at my side again. “It’d be better if we could get you home and to the doctor.”

“And how do we explain that?” I asked, pointing to my side.

“That’ll be tricky,” she said, pursing her lips. “Can you believe I did that? Sewed you up?”

I laughed under my breath. “No. But then you pulled through for me in so many ways, Lia.” I grabbed her hand and waited until she looked at me. “We’ll have to talk about it at some point, you know. I don’t want you to have post-traumatic stress disorder or something. You know, like the guys who fight in wars sometimes get, coming home? I know I’ve been having nightmares-“

“I really don’t want to talk about it,” she said. Was she a shade paler?

“You had no choice, Lia. If you hadn’t killed them they would have-“

“Stop!” She yanked her hand from mine again. She stepped away from me and brought a hand to her forehead. “I just wanna get back, Gabs. This is all so crazy….”

A knock sounded at the door, and a moment later, Cook peeked in. She looked at me with her kind eyes. “I thought you’d enjoy a bath, m’lady.”

I winced as I tried to sit up, then lay back down. A bath sounded so good. “I would like nothing more. But my wound.” I glanced at it again and shook my head. “I think it best if I not get it wet.”

“Well, what if we assist you? To wash your hair, at least. Take care with the rest.”

Finally I nodded my agreement. Four maids with pails of hot water and a manservant, carrying the deep wooden tub, followed her, set up a screen, dumped the water into it, and then left again. Lia looked like she wanted to follow them.

“On the morrow, these halls will be filled with Sienas finest,” Cook said. She beamed over at Lia and then back to me. “They’re coming to honor you two, you know. As much as the Forellis are the favored sons of Toscana, at the moment, all of Siena wishes to know about the she-warriors of Normandy.”

“I don’t know,” I mumbled. I hadn’t yet managed to rise from my bed. Part of me feared that if I moved, I’d tear out Lia’s stitches. I shuddered at the thought.

But then I caught Lids expression, which plainly said, Yeah, you should take a look at yourself, and thought of how nice it’d feel to be clean again. It had been over a week. And that last day had hardly been a prissy-girl experience. I leaned down and sniffed my armpit. “Uhh,” I said.

Lia arched a brow and moved over to my side. “Come on. We’ll help you.”

I almost screamed when I sat up, and after a moment, I gritted my teeth to stand. Any movement along my side was excruciating. Sweat rolled down my face. Briefly, I considered what it would be to have Lia remove the stitches soon, and quickly cast that thought out. I’d have to bite down on a stick, down a bunch of grappa, or something… because that was going to kill.

I wrapped my right arm around the shoulders of Cook, who was much shorter than me. Lia held my left hand, more for encouragement than support. Slowly, we moved to the tub, and I sat down in a chair and leaned my head back, letting my hair fall behind me.

They moved quickly, tag-teaming the process. Cook dumped a pail of water down my head, dousing it, and Lia moved in with a bar of lavender-laced soap, scrubbing my hair into a thick lather. Then they each began with the pails of water, dumping one after another. It felt delicious, and I sighed in relief at the sensation of getting clean.

Then they brought me a basin and cloth, and together, we washed the rest of me, the best we could, without submerging. Beads of sweat lined my upper lip even as I shivered. Lia frowned at me. “You don’t look so good,” she whispered, when Cook left the room. “I mean, you look far better than you did, but are you feeling sick?”

I shook my head. “Just the exertion, I think.” I sat up as straight as I could as Lia began the long process of combing out my tangled hair. That was another thing that definitely sucked about living in medieval times: no conditioner.

Cook returned with two servants. They each set a trunk down, on the edge of my room, and left, never looking in my direction. But Cook was grinning as she opened the trunks. “Gifts, for you and Lady Evangelia.”

Lia stopped combing and leaned over to see what it could possibly be. Cook flipped the brass latch on the first trunk and opened it. She pulled from it a magnificent robin’s-egg-blue gown, embroidered with what looked like silver thread. “For you, Lady Evangelia,” she said, dragging it across her arms and carrying it across the room.

“Oh, Lia,” I breathed, reaching out to run my hand across the finely woven silk. It was amazing. And the exact color of her eyes. “With your hair… my goodness, no one will be able to keep their eyes off of you.”

“I agree, but she’ll have a firm competitor in her sister,” Cook said, going to the second trunk. From it she pulled a copper-colored silk gown, this one embedded with tiny seed pearls all across the bodice.

I gaped at her. “I cannot wear such a thing. It is far too beautiful.”

“It is only fitting,” Cook said with a dismissive snort, “for them to honor you so. Were it not for you two, Castello Paratore would not be ours.”

“My side,” I said, hating the whine that crept into my voice, “with my wound, I’ll never be able to endure being in that gown.”

“Nonsense,” Cook said. “Lord Marcello has seen to every detail. He had the seamstresses cut it a couple inches wider than your other gowns, so that there will be plenty of room to bind your wound so it won’t chafe.”

I looked her in the eye. “This is a gift from Marcello?”

“But of course,” Cook said, smiling at me quizzically as if to say Who else?

I shared a look with Lia. She turned to Cook. “Is my gown from Marcello as well?”

“I believe that was more of Sir Lucas doing,” she said, turning back to the trunks again. Did the woman think it was odd that two men more comfortable with swords had spent the afternoon at a Sienese seamstress’s shop?

She pulled several more gowns out of each trunk to show us, one for each of the days of the feast. “Your other two gowns should arrive with our guests,” she said.

“Two more?”

“Indeed,” she said, brows raised. “The ladies of the castle are all expected to be in their finest for the festivities. You’ll find in each trunk new sets of underclothes, underdresses, and the like.” And with that, she went out the door, closing it softly behind her.

Lia was again at my hair, but she wasn’t paying attention. The comb caught in the tangles, and she pulled hard, ripping out some strands of hair. “Lia.”

“Sorry,” she muttered, dropping the comb to the bed. “Okay, I so wanna wear that gown. I’ve never seen anything so pretty. It’s like something out of a dream.” She went over to it, lifted it into her hands, and then draped it across her body.

I smiled and shook my head. “You’ll look amazing in that.”

“You’ll be gorgeous in yours, too.”

I looked at my own and then back to her, hope lifting my heart. We don’t have to go. Yet. “So…we’ll try to get to the tomb after the feast?”

She didn’t answer me for a moment. “What’s one or two more days? We don’t have to stay for the entire feast, right? And you need a few more days to mend. Mom would freak if she saw those sinew stitches.”

“Right, although it may be hard to slip away.”

“Okay, but we’ll go right after the feast, all right? Promise me.” She laid the gown down and came over to me, kneeling beside my chair. “Promise me, Gabi.”

“I promise. We’ll get to the tomb.” She seemed mollified by my words and went to retrieve fresh bandages to rebind my wound. What she missed was that I didn’t promise the rest-to put my hand on the print, to make the leap back. Might there be a way for me to send her home, give her what she wanted, but stay, myself? But if she were gone, could I stay? Would I not be crazy with longing for my family, homesick?

It was too much to consider. I had a few days. I’d figure it out.

A servant knocked on my door, awakening me from my nap. The bath had pretty much wiped me out.

Lia went to the door and was speaking in hushed tones, but I said, “Wait. Who is it?”

She glanced back at me with a worried expression. “Lord Fortino,” she said in a low tone.

“Let him in,” I said, closing my eyes.

I could feel her hesitation. She was worried about me, getting so tired.