Waterfall (38 page)

“Then I shall get Cook or Fortino or someone else,” I bit out, more sharply than I intended. I sighed heavily. “Please, can we let this go now, Lia? I’m wiped.”

Really, it seemed to take everything in me to draw my next breath, and then the next. I went to sleep feeling like I didn’t really care if I woke up. It was just too hard …so hard…

I knew if I didn’t do it right away, I’d never be able to endure it later. And the stitches had to be out, the bleeding mostly stopped, before we went home. There would be no explaining them, back in our own century. So as soon as Lia awakened the next morning, I said, “We need to do it now.”

She rose and stared at me, brows arched. “I can’t do it, Gabi. I can’t. It’s one thing to operate on you when you’re almost dead.” She shook her head once, “Another to do it when you’re … well, alive.”

I rolled my eyes and turned to my back. “The kitchens will be full of alcohol, with all this feasting business. Grab a jug of grappa. I’ll drink until I won’t feel anything, I promise. Bring Cook’s sharpest knife; we’ll put it in the fire. You might need to cauterize the wound.”

“Cauterize?”

I groaned. “Burn me! If I start bleeding. It’s the fastest way.”

She blanched and shook her head.

“Lia, if you want to go home….”

“I do! But I can’t do it, Gabi,” she said. “I can’t.” I could see in her face that the idea of bringing me more pain, of touching the wound itself, was bringing back all kinds of memories she wasn’t ready to deal with.

I groaned, totally exasperated. “Go. Go and fetch Fortino. And Luca, if you can find him. But not Marcello.” I needed to steer clear of the man as much as possible. Being with him only made me feel… confused.

She nodded, fast, threw on a day dress, pulled her hair into a quick knot-oh for the ease of her long, straight hair!-and was out the door in minutes. I rose, went to relieve myself in the chamber pot, washed my face and hands, and then lifted my gown to see the wound.

It was still swollen and red and angry, barely knit together again, yet the skin was growing around each strand. Already, I knew the pain ahead might be enough to knock me out.

Feeling sick to my stomach, I let the gown fall back to the floor and padded over to the bed and with some effort, pulled up a blanket. A few minutes later, I saw the latch move on the door and she was inside, but she wasn’t alone. Sheepishly, she looked over her shoulder and raised her eyebrows.

Marcello.

He strode in, staying on the edge of the room, far from me. “M’lady, your sister has brought me troubling news.”

“Oh?” I asked lightly, shooting Lia an arrow glance.

“She says that you intend to have your bindings out this day. Might we not wait another day? I have sent for the finest of Sienese physicians, and he will see to your care.”

“Nay. I believe they must come out today. To tarry a day will only bring me an extra measure of pain.”

He frowned. “Are you certain?” He hesitated, running a hand through his hair and then gesturing toward me. “I’ve seen my share of such gashes. Might I examine your sutures?”

I glanced at Lia, then back at him. “All right,” I said tiredly. “Allow my sister to situate me.”

He nodded and turned his back. I pushed down the covers, and Lia brought my gown up, to my chest, leaving my side exposed. She covered my lower hip, thigh, and legs with the blanket again and then coughed. Marcello turned slowly. To his credit, he moved without hesitation to my side, looking at my wound with all the detachment of an ER doc on a TV show.

“You see?” I asked.

“It could be another day or two,” he said. “Wait until after the feast. The skin is not yet fused-“

“I want them out, Marcello,” I said lowly, inviting no argument. “To spend the next few days, thinking about it…” And I had to be able to move, immediately, to the tomb, if we had to. If my mom saw those things, those massive stitches, she’d freak. She’d freak enough over the wound itself.

“Let me send a messenger to tell the physician it’s urgent. He can be here this night.”

“Nay,” I said, grabbing his hand. “Take them out yourself. Fast. You can do it. You have a steady hand.”

His lush lips fell open a bit, then clamped shut. “Nay, I cannot,” he whispered, kneeling beside me and touching my forehead, ignoring Lia. “I cannot do such a thing-bring you pain.”

“Then bring me a knife, and I’ll do it myself.”

He sighed heavily as he stared at me. “Nay. You shall wait for my physician.”

A maid arrived then, casting her eyes hurriedly from me, with my bare waist, and Marcello close beside me, to the table. She set a pail of steaming water, a knife and bandages there, bobbed a curtsy to Lia and fled.

I glanced up to the ceiling and sighed. “Fetch Fortino,” I said to Lia. She turned and left the room immediately, probably glad to escape the tension between us as much as the maid before her.

Marcello looked at me, hard, then. “He won’t do this for you.”

“Yes, he will. After all I’ve done for him, he will do this for me.”

“Why must you be so stubborn?” he cried, rising fast and flinging out his hands toward me. “What is the matter with you? Why must this be done now? The feast is upon us. Where will you be? In here, in agonizing pain!”

“Trust me,” I said, looking away from him. “I know it is time.” Itd be good, if I couldn’t go to the feast tonight. I’d have a legitimate excuse.

He paced, beginning to speak, thinking better of it and stopping, time and time again.

Soon, thankfully, Fortino arrived. Seeing my bare waist, his eyes moved to the wall. “M’lady?”

“Lord Fortino,” I said, waiting until he dragged his eyes to meet mine, carefully hopping over my exposed skin. “I need you to remove my stitches.”

He frowned. “The physician-“

“Will not arrive until the morrow. I need them out now.”

He swallowed, visibly, and then looked into my eyes. “I will do as you have asked me,” he said. He moved to the pail and the knife, then to our tiny fire to place the blade in the coals.

“Fortino!” Marcello barked.

But Fortino shook his head at his brother. “She knows what she needs, Marcello. Hold her hand.”

Marcello paced twice more, then reached for a small flask on the table, uncorked it, and brought it over to me. “Take a long drink of this,” he said, begging me with his big, brown eyes. I turned obediently and took a look swig, then another, ignoring how the liquid burned all the way down my throat and inside my gut. He took the bottle from my hand and poured a liberal amount on my wound, making me gasp for breath at the sting and burn. Then he took my hand in his, clasping it as if we were about to arm wrestle. Not that I was any match for him; I was already weak with fear.

“Clip each loop,” he said to his brother. “Then move quickly, pulling the threads out. That will be the worst part.”

He spoke as if he had gone through this before. I stared into his eyes. Where were his wounds? Evidence of his own stitches, long removed and healed. On his back? His thigh? Thoughts of scars, purple and healed, gave me strange comfort. If he could do it, so could I.

I winced when Fortino cut the first loop. There were about eighteen, in total. Staring into Marcello’s eyes, I found strength in them. I thought of having but a minute left with him, forever, and how I’d want every second I had, regardless of the pain. He stared at me, seeming to count in his head too. It was then that Fortino paused, and I knew what was to come.

“Fast,” I panted, my heart racing. “Fortino, don’t stop, no matter what happens. Just get them out.” I turned and eyed him. “Understood?”

He nodded once, his eyes still on the threads, now crazy white snippets rising from my side like a sad, sparse, white patch of grass.

I turned away and saw that Luca had arrived. Lia brought her fist to her mouth, staring at me. Luca reached out for her, and in spite of her hesitations, she turned into his chest, clearly wishing not to see what would come next. He wrapped a hand around her head and stared hard in my direction.

“You hold on to me,” Marcello said, drawing my attention again.

“Do it,” I said to Fortino, still staring at Marcello.

I was able to hold my tongue through the first two. He moved so fast, my mind barely had time to capture what was bringing me the searing pain, even though I knew what was to come. But then my brain caught up and I started to whine with the third and fourth, wail with the fifth.

By the time he reached the sixth, I was in a full-fledged scream, biting into my blanket to muffle the noise, no longer able to look into Marcello’s eyes and be the strong heroine. It was about the thirteenth that I passed out instead of throwing up, giving in to the blessed, black tunnel that closed in around me.

I awakened to the smell of burning flesh. It took me a moment to feel the fresh pain in my side and realize that they had taken up my idea and cauterized the wound in a couple of places where the skin threatened to spring loose. Thank God I was out for that, I thought. The aftermath was pain enough to deal with.

I opened my eyes, fearful that he had gone, but he was still beside me, holding my hand, tenderly now, not in the death grip of a soldier about to lose a comrade-in-arms.

“Thank you,” I mumbled. Luca and Lia and Fortino were behind him, all anxiously watching me. They seemed to take a collective breath when they heard me speak.

“Take another sip of this,” he said, lifting a cup so that I could take another drink of the clear liquid. It floated down my throat, not so hot this time. Without asking, he gave me another. I felt the fog of the alcohol descend, giving me a slight reprieve. Not from the pain, but from caring about the pain.

“The castle is in an uproar,” he said lowly, wiping my forehead of the beads of sweat with a cool cloth.

“They heard me screaming?”

He gave me a small nod. “I must take my leave,” he added sorrowfully.

“She’ll want to know what’s transpired,” I said. “Tell her I had to have them out. So I could be off. To Pistoia.”

“To Pistoia?” he asked, frowning.

“She’ll know what I mean,” I said.

“You cannot go to Pistoia. ‘Tis deep into Florentine lands and-“

“And we shall not truly go there. Just tell Romana that, all right? For me? Trust me?”

He hesitated. “But you are not leaving now, Gabriella. Right? Not for days, yet. You need to remain still. Allow your skin to heal. Be tended to.”

I dragged my eyes open. “I know. Go, Marcello. You and Fortino. Go and see to your guests. Leave me to Lia.”

“Are you certain?” he asked, tracing the pad of his thumb over my brows.

“Never more so.”