Time Enough for Love (10 page)

“You’re a little late.” Gwen opened her eyes slightly, then closed them again, a faint smile playing across her lips. She coughed. “The queen? Warinus?”

“Both safe.” Alberto took a deep breath, then sat, stretched out his bad leg, and gently lifted her onto his lap. “You are a troublesome woman.”

“Oh, you’d be bored with anyone else,” she replied, grimacing.

Gwen nestled against Alberto, and he reveled in her nearness.

“Ah!” Warinus cried out behind them.

Alberto turned. “What is it, Father?”

“My arm. I fear it is broken,” he said, wincing.

“What?” Gwen struggled to sit up and see.

The priest’s arm hung with an odd, unnatural twist, as though he had an extra joint midway between shoulder and elbow.

“Alberto, do you know what to do?” Gwen asked.

“In theory,” he replied. “I’ve seen it done.”

Despite his painful leg, Alberto helped Gwen stand, then faced the moaning priest.

“No, don’t touch me,” Warinus protested. “I can wait for the healers, truly.”

“I have none with me,” Alberto said. “I’m sure we can set the bone and splint it well enough.”

“We?” Gwen recoiled.

“No,” Warinus moaned again.

“Men,” Alberto commanded, “you must help me with the good father.”

“God help me,” Father Warinus groaned, as two soldiers gripped him.

Just then, Adelaide joined them. She knelt beside the priest, took his good hand, and started to pray.

“Hold him fast.” Alberto probed his upper arm. “The bone has gone off to the side.”

Father Warinus grimaced. “Do it.”

Alberto lifted the arm away from Warinus’s body, then put a boot just beneath the priest’s armpit and yanked. The poor man howled as Alberto twisted slightly, then let up.

The priest’s face lost all trace of blood. “No,” he gasped and sagged, his eyes rolling back into his head.

“Not good,” Alberto muttered. He probed the arm, adjusted the angle, then pulled again and let go.

Crack!

Warinus shrieked back to consciousness, then went limp, nodding, eyes closed, tears of pain streaming down his face. “Yes, that is it. Praise be to God. Thank you. Please don’t touch me again.”

*

It was approaching sunset as Gwen and Adelaide sat with Father Warinus, his arm splinted and bound to his side. The other half of Alberto’s troop had rejoined them and Gwen watched as soldiers buried the dead and recaptured loose horses.

Once they were mounted and on their way, her thoughts turned to something she’d noticed earlier. Worried, she brought her horse alongside Alberto’s. She reached out to touch his arm, resentful of the short distance still separating them. “Alberto, you were limping back there. Are you badly injured? Wounded?”

He shook his head, pain written across his features. “There was a skirmish, my leg was trapped, and twisted a bit. It is nothing.”

“Trapped? Did Heracles go down? Where is he?” She turned and scanned the troop for his warhorse.

Alberto mumbled something.

“What? He – what? Was he killed?”

Alberto nodded sadly. “He took a direct blow – I saw it coming – was off balance, then he reared and took the thrust of a long blade. When we went down, my leg was beneath him.”

“Poor Heracles. He saved your life,” Gwen whispered.

“Yes. He gave his life for mine.” Alberto’s gaze focused on distant hills. “I was there for his birth and tore the sack from his nose to give him air. His mother was injured by the birth and produced no milk, so I fed him myself for the first week.” He smiled at the recollection. “He was a moody, cantankerous little demon, but strong, also, right from the start.”

“What… what about Barca?” Gwen asked hesitantly. “I haven’t seen him. Was he sent back with the wounded?”

Alberto didn’t respond for a moment, but the flinching of the muscles along his jawline gave Gwen the answer. “Oh, no, Alberto! He didn’t… he’s not––?”

“My lord, a word,” a soldier called out, riding toward them.

Gwen pulled her horse back and let the two talk in private, tears misting her view. She looked to Father Warinus, to Adelaide for comfort, but she could tell they didn’t know, and she didn’t want to break the awful news just now.

“There is a defensible site about one league distant, my lord,” the soldier said.

“Good. We shall set camp there. Send some men on ahead to make ready for our arrival. The ladies will need a tent.”

“Yes, my lord.”

The man rode away, and Alberto motioned for Gwen to rejoin him. When she came alongside, he leaned over and grasped her hand. “Barca did what was asked of him, and protected you to the last. He died nobly, Gwen. A worthy man.”

Gwen could only nod through her heartache. This was such a harsh world. Too harsh. Barca had been wonderful, ever stalwart, a hero, and a dear friend. She would not forget him.

*

They rode in silence. Father Warinus was lost in his unrelieved pain, Queen Adelaide in the anguish of missing her daughter, and Gwen somber in her grief, for Barca, Heracles, and all the others who had fallen.

She stayed near the queen, her gaze on the horse in front of her, as Alberto moved among his men, constantly checking, questioning, and dealing with concerns.

As the day waned and dusk crept over the horizon, she barely took note when a horse galloped up beside her.

It was Alberto. Smiling, he whispered, “Your presence here gladdens my heart.”

A surge of desire supplanted her heartache, and she leaned toward him. “Alberto, I’ve missed you.”

“Yes, I too,” he said, the formality of his bearing contrasted by the heat of his words, “and I would devour you this night, lady, but decorum must win out when the queen is in residence. My apologies.”

She leaned closer, their lips almost meeting. “I would let you do it this minute, behind a bush for all I care, if tonight is not possible.”

Alberto laughed loudly. “You are wicked! Unfortunately, the problem is not one of time or place, but the act itself. We must be circumspect in our bearing, and,” he became more serious, “the queen must not be left unattended, or left with men only, at any time. It would be unseemly and give rise to rumors. Her person must be above reproach or conjecture, especially now, while her position is in a delicate balance.”

*

Unwilling to draw unfriendly eyes to their position, Alberto ordered a cold camp. Dried meat, cheese, and no fires, again.

Just outside their tent, Gwen sat beside Adelaide, gnawing on the bits of food, eyeing the camp structure, watching as Alberto went about making sure everything was in order.

Gwen knew many sentries were posted, both near and farther afield. Alberto was taking no chances. He would see the queen delivered safe within his castle fortifications, or die trying.

“He honors you, Gwen,” Adelaide broke in on her thoughts, a smile in her voice.

Gwen looked at her. “How do you mean?”

“Lord Alberto served me this supper, as is proper and expected in the circumstances, but a lord who harbored no passion would simply have ordered your food brought to you, as he did for Father Warinus. Instead, he also served you, personally gave you sustenance from his supplies.”

Considering what the queen said, Gwen recalled how Alberto had knelt before Adelaide. It had been a very formal acknowledgement of her station, and his.

Then she remembered, with astonishment, he had made the same gesture for her, minus the bowed head. She thought he’d done it for general ease of delivery.

“Oh, my God, he did,” Gwen said. “I didn’t realize… didn’t think about what he was
doing
, I was so busy thinking about
him
.”

Adelaide chuckled. “Realize, too, he did it in front of his men. He was making a very strong statement.”

Gwen was stunned he had done such a thing, and that she had completely missed the significance.

“Let me offer some advice,” Adelaide took Gwen’s hand, “although, since you are so wise and kind, I doubt you will need it.”

“Yes?”

“You may be sure his men took note of his actions. Whatever has passed between you two before now, he has shown that you are his chosen, not merely a companion. They will treat you with great deference after this, and will seem aloof at first, less companionable. They are no longer your equals, so you must not treat them as such; it would be demeaning to you and to them. This lesson is a difficult one and the change may well be sad and lonely.”

Gwen watched the queen closely, understanding she must have known the same change, from informal and friendly, to formal, deferential, and alone. Adelaide was trying to prepare her. Had she been shocked by the change after her marriage to King Lothaire?

“Come, Gwen, we must retire,” Adelaide said, rising and entering the tent.

Gwen stood, and Alberto moved across her field of view with one of his captains. He paused, smiled at her, then walked on, resuming his conversation.

It was the last she would see of him that night.

Alberto Uzzo and his army swept south into his fiefdom, bypassing Mantua. The force had reached the old Roman road, Via Emilia, in record time – four days after leaving the shores of Lake Garda.

The sky was hazy, the air heavy, sultry, and still. Reggio di Lombardia loomed before them, a shimmering blur on a horizon touched by distant, bluish mountains.

Thirsty and saddle-sore, Gwen yearned for the end of summer’s swelter. Following Alberto and his officers, she rode alongside Adelaide, the two women guiding their horses on the ancient, stone causeway, still solid and substantial despite its age. The road lay parallel to the Crostolo River, its banks thick with reeds and willows, and teeming with waterfowl.

Gwen glanced at the water, aching for a swim.
Yeah, I don’t think a woman in a bathing suit would work here,
she thought, wishing it could be otherwise. Privacy and modesty were demanded of women, yet almost impossible to achieve, at least while they traveled. Finding a place to go to the bathroom was hard enough in normal circumstances, but she and the queen had suffered more than usual since they’d come to a treeless plain. Embarrassing as it was, they were thankful when Alberto finally ordered his men to set up a tent, so they could relieve themselves out of view.

Gwen saw a barge drifting downstream. A breeze stirred the air, and the crew immediately worked to raise her sail, and Gwen caught shouts, some laughter, and a few good-natured curses.

Reveling in the cooler air, she let her gaze roam on. She watched several boys skipping stones on the far riverbank, then noticed as one of them pointed toward Alberto’s forces, the others shading their eyes.

They rounded a bend in the river, and Alberto’s second-in-command suddenly called out, “Halt!”

Reining in, Gwen stared at the great, brick walls rising before her. They’d made it to Reggio! A huge lancet arch marked the main entrance.

The gates swung open and people poured out, gawking at their queen. Adelaide still wore the clothing belonging to the fisherman’s son, but she had let it be known before their arrival she was proud of it and would not hear of changing. After her many travails, she deemed it her badge of honor.

Alberto glanced back at Gwen, his expression sober, bordering on moody. Over the last few days, she’d been so busy seeing to her own and Adelaide’s needs, she hadn’t had much contact with him. Was his sprained leg still bothering him? The healer tending Father Warinus’s arm had mentioned his leg was mending well. So, if that was not the case, what was the matter?

On impulse, Gwen opened her mouth to speak, but Alberto turned away, his attention caught by the city’s welcoming delegation, which had formed up at the gate. He waited for the queen; by prior agreement, they would ride in together, side by side.

Before she joined him, Adelaide whispered, “Dearest Gwen, don’t look so glum. His frown was not of baleful intent. I believe he wishes it were you riding by his side, instead of his queen.”

“But I wouldn’t dream of taking your place.”

“Ah, but that is not my point. He performs his duty toward me flawlessly, but thinks only of you. He loves you and needs a wife. His daughter, God bless and keep her, sorely needs a mother.”

“Oh, I, well…” Gwen struggled for words.

“You belong with him. Your life in Britannia is in the past. This is your home now, so accept his proposal, when he asks, else I shall have to command the thing be done.”

“But, I…”

“No buts,” Adelaide replied, smiling, then urged her mount forward, choosing not to listen.

*

Reggio looked quite prosperous, with its large, cobbled Piazza Grande, completely surrounded by substantial stone and brick buildings, and dominated by the ancient and magnificent Roman Baptistery.

While Adelaide, Alberto, and Father Warinus went off with city officials for a meeting in the town hall, Gwen and her escorts headed to the mayor’s home, where they’d arranged for her to spend the night. They passed through a smaller piazza, the site of Reggio’s fruit and vegetable market. The queen would join her later, but not Alberto. He planned to camp with his men outside the city walls, so they could rise early and make ready for the next day’s journey.

Turning onto a narrow street, Gwen saw a sign that read: Via Toschi. Weary from the long day, she was grateful when the leader of the guards reined in before a two-storied, stone house, announcing, “My lady, we have reached our destination.”

At the front door, a short, stout, rosy-cheeked woman stood waiting, dressed in a sumptuous gown of pale green linen, the hem and sleeves embroidered with multicolored flowers. Clearly, the lady of the house.

Gwen dismounted from her horse, instantly aware of how dirty and grubby she felt – and how weird she looked – for like Adelaide she was still wearing men’s clothing.

If the woman was thinking this, she wasn’t letting on. Gwen gave her a tentative smile.

The lady motioned for a serving man to take Gwen’s horse, and then dropped to a curtsey. “Gwendolyn Godwyn of Britannia, I bid you welcome. I am Beatrice Tura, the mayor’s wife. Please, do come inside and take your ease. I shall see to your comfort straight away.”

*

How long had it been since she’d had a bath? Gwen sipped wine as she sat in the kitchen’s big, iron tub. Casa Tura was a nice place, reminding her a bit of the comfortable pensione where she had stayed in Rome, prior to her trip to Santa Lucia and before her time traveling. This house had no modern conveniences, of course, but it was heaven compared to anything she’d experienced in the past several months. Absolute heaven!

She glanced down, noting with satisfaction how lean and fit she looked. One good thing had come out of this. These last few months had been a real workout. She was probably down to a toned size eight now, but at what cost? To her dismay, Stefano’s face was always there at the edge of awareness. She gulped down more wine.

You aren’t responsible
. She had tried to find him, done everything she could, but his fate had been out of her hands. She knew he wouldn’t want her to feel guilty.

Closing her eyes, Gwen concentrated on the hot, scented water, fragrant with lavender. She stretched out as much as her tall frame allowed, breathing deeply. Soon, her mind drifted, her thoughts hovering between sleep and need.

Need won out as she remembered making love to Alberto in the glen. Mad with desire, that afternoon had been bliss, but all too short. These thoughts were her refuge and she could see him clearly, staring down at her, his gaze intense, blazing. She felt him kissing her mouth, her breasts, felt the long length of him as her hand guided him in.

Gwen jerked, water sloshed, and she sat up, catching herself just before she spilled the wine. Her heart was pounding. Shaking her head, she groaned and then took another sip, realizing she was getting tipsy, and wondering if it would be better to face this evening blitzed out of her skull.

Do I dare try to find you tonight, Alberto?

She could send a note telling him when to expect her. She could sneak out like a teenager, go to his tent, and then…

No way. Not here. This wasn’t LaLaLand. No climbing out of windows, no pursuing a guy, especially with all the soldiers surrounding his tent, listening –
oh God, no!

Gwen drained her cup, put it on the floor, and relaxed back into the water. Despite her self-admonition, Alberto again overwhelmed her thoughts, and she yearned to make love to him, to hold him, to hear him speak her name. She touched her lips, tracing them with her fingers, feeling what he felt, wondering when she would kiss him again.

Footsteps stirred outside, followed by voices echoing through the walls. She could hear Mrs. Tura giving orders. Was Adelaide here already?

Instantly sobering up, Gwen glanced at the nightshift draped over a stool. Provided by her hostess, it was a rare luxury made from the softest Egyptian cotton.

Adelaide must be dying for a good soak, too, and Gwen felt certain they were itching to get the tub ready for her.

She glanced at the door, then rose, stepped out, grabbed a linen towel, and started to dry off. Her plans for Alberto would have to wait, but for how long? She heaved a sigh.

*

The next day, Gwen and Adelaide rode behind Alberto as he led their party south, away from Reggio, and onto a rolling plain.

The land was beautiful, covered with golden grass, and studded with old oaks. From certain vantage points, Gwen could almost believe she was back in California. But then, she would train her eyes on the Apennines, the peaks gray and summer-bare, and her nostalgic thoughts would dissolve away. She wondered when the mountains would get their first dusting of snow. The shortened days, the changing angle of sunlight, the flocks of birds already winging south, all pointed to the coming autumn, now just a few weeks away.

Yet, summer’s warmth still held sway on the flatlands. Alberto had assured the queen and Gwen that by this evening they would reach one of his advance-guard strongholds, which had a romantic sounding name: Bianello.

Longing for a word or glance, Gwen stole a look at Alberto, but he was as he had been for the past week: all business, ignoring her, staying apart. And she understood why.

Last night, Queen Adelaide told her some troubling news; scouts reported Berengar had apparently given up his plan of confronting King Otto and turned his army around. Alberto had ordered a troop of his men to act as decoy. At this point, no one knew whether Berengar was chasing after that troop, pursuing the queen, or merely heading home. To add to his consternation, Alberto had learned his other men were still two days out from Reggio, and there would be no rendezvous as planned.

Gwen fully understood why Alberto could not spend time with her. His priorities revolved around getting Queen Adelaide to safety as swiftly as possible.

An hour passed. Then another. Gwen was idly studying her horse’s withers, when she suddenly felt as if Alberto’s thoughts had called to her, willing her to pay attention. She glanced up to see his dark eyes on her. His face was drawn, his gaze worried and filled with a bone-weariness she hadn’t seen before.

Without a word, he shifted back, urging his horse to a canter.

Gwen became aware of Adelaide’s stare.

“As I told you before, he needs a wife,” the queen said gently. “But more than that, he needs
you
.”

Gwen looked away and resumed her brooding. Her heart ached. She could hardly breathe. She needed
him
, too. Adelaide was right.

The queen brought her horse alongside Gwen’s. “Friend, listen to me. This eve, you must go to him,” she counseled.

“No, I mean, of course not, I couldn’t possibly. I need to stay with you.”

“Gwendolyn, I would not think it untoward. On the contrary. And we can make arrangements for my protection.”

Gwen gazed at her, knowing it was useless to pretend. “I wanted to go see him last night.”

Adelaide grinned. “You were wise not to, since he camped with his men. Bianello shall be different. I will ask the mistress of the house to stay with me, so you may go to his quarters and be alone together. Think how much he means to you, and how short is our time upon this Earth. And yet, if we seize the moment, it is time enough for love. If he asks, Gwen, and you wish it, stay the night. I believe I would do the same if King Otto were here.” She smiled. “Yes, I know I would cast aside conventions and go to him.

*

Bianello was the exact opposite of its dreamy-sounding name. Located on a rocky rise, it was surrounded by a tall stockade fence, which bristled with defensive towers. The fort itself was a jumble of stout, masonry buildings. With the exception of a small church, the complex had been built solely for defense, its inner courtyard bustling with men, warriors all.

Adelaide and Gwen discovered they were the only women at Bianello. But since they had been given a private bedchamber in the church’s priory, the queen insisted Gwen follow through with the plan to see Alberto. Her whereabouts would not be known and each woman’s reputation would remain above reproach.

Water for washing had been provided, and they used the opportunity to change out of their men’s clothes. In Reggio, Beatrice Tura had presented them each with several gowns and veils. With joy, they had tried on their new clothes, but decided against using them for travel.

Now, finally, Gwen could introduce this world, and Alberto, to some big-time American firepower. She laughed with delight. For the evening, she’d decided to go romancy, choosing a creamy-pink gown, while Adelaide went regal in a dress of crimson brocade.

Before supper, they parted company. The queen joined Father Warinus and Bianello’s priest, Father Domenico, for a prayer service. Gwen, on the other hand, found herself slowly climbing the steps to Alberto’s quarters, her mind a jumble of worries.

Was the queen right about staying the night? Was it a good idea? For days, Gwen had known she needed to tell him her truth. She hated living the lies. Should she tell him tonight? She had to get it out in the open sooner or later, and since Adelaide thought he would propose when all this was over, sooner would be better.

She recognized the soldier who guarded the door and gave him a nervous smile.