DELUGE (3 page)

“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.

Where do these hair pins come from, exactly?
I had to find out.

“Giacinta, I saw Isabella snitching cakes from Cook’s shelves yesterday.” The image of the round-cheeked, sweet girl with hair as red as her mama’s made me smile. She’d actually lifted a small finger to her lips, sealing me into a wordless secret. And I’d laughed. The girl was all of four years old and as bold as her young mother.

“What?” she said, staring at my reflection with dismay.

“I did,” I said ruefully. “I’ve seen Cook take a switch to the squires for doing the same. I thought you’d wish to warn her. No doubt the girl has simply learned from the other children.”

“I’ll take a switch to her myself, the little imp,” she said, shaking her head as she worked to attach the net to my tapestry cap, worn on the top, back side of my scalp. I winced as she tugged and the hair pulled. “Forgive me,” she muttered, pulling anew. I wasn’t fooled. She didn’t feel a bit sorry. She took pride in the fact that she seemed to be the only one in Castello Forelli who could tame the lady’s hair and was gunning to keep that glory. Whereas most days I opted for a quick braid I could do myself, I knew I’d be subjected to this several more times in the next week as the feast came and went, and dignitaries and neighbors came to visit.

“There,” she said at last, standing back, hands on hips.

“
Grazie mille
,” I said, turning to one side and then the next, viewing with satisfaction the neat coils, knowing they’d stay for a while.
A thousand thanks.
I rose and smoothed my skirts, casting one more anxious glance to my swelling form.

Marcello came in then and caught me staring. “Ah, my Gabriella,” he said, coming over and taking me into his arms from behind. Giacinta left without a word. He bent and kissed my bare neck, from behind. “The best part about Giacinta seeing to your hair in this fashion,” he said, kissing upward, sending shivers down my shoulders and arms, “is your throat covered, and yet all this delightful skin at the nape of your neck…”

I squirmed away from him, turned, then wrapped my arms around him, bringing him close for a kiss. “Thank you, husband,” I said.
Just when I was feeling fat…

“For bestowing the finest of kisses?” he said, quirking a brow.

“For being you,” I said. I gave him a quick peck on the lips and pushed him away when he tried to pull me closer for something more. “Nay, nay,” I said, with mock chastising. “If you continue, we’re more apt to end up undressed instead of ready for our journey.”

“Would that be so awful?” he asked, pulling at my hips and giving me a sultry look. “I could send Luca to give Rodolfo my apologies.”

I smiled and gave in to another long, searching kiss, then leaned back to look up at him. “Oh? And what would you say?”

“Brother,” he said, crossing his arms and looking to our ceiling, as if dictating, “Please accept my most sincere apologies. I dearly wished to join you to sup this eve. But I found I could not resist the desire to instead bed my wife.”

I pushed him away with a laugh, the heat of a blush at my cheeks. “That would be a fine letter for him to read in the company of my sister and parents.”

“Nay?” he said, arching his brow again. He pursed his lips and sighed, looking me slowly up and down. “Ahh, well. Later, then.”

I moved to fetch a handkerchief, but he caught my wrist. I turned back to him.

“Later?” he repeated huskily, all seriousness, his dark eyes running up the length of my arm, my neck, my face, as if he were kissing every inch.

“Later,” I agreed with a satisfied smile. “But right
now
, I need to go write those letters I promised you.”

CHAPTER THREE

~EVANGELIA~

“So, what’s up with you two?” Gabi said lowly, edging her horse closer, looking at me over her shoulder. “I haven’t seen Luca so sad and serious since we battled the Fiorentini assassins.”

We were on the way to Castello Greco, having just passed the riverbed. Knights flanked us on the front and rear, as well as to either side of us. But I was reasonably sure no one else could hear her. Still, I stole a glance forward to Luca, six riders away. He hadn’t even looked my way when I entered the courtyard. Celso was the one who helped me mount, his face telling me he had been assigned the task and felt awkward performing it.

No one but Luca had helped me mount my horse in months.

“He’s angry with me,” I muttered at last.

“Why? What have you done?”

I felt a flash of anger wash through me. “Maybe it was something
he
did.”